Unknown
by melliemellie
Summary: "First things first," he begins in a matter-of-fact tone. "Who are you and how did you end up with the Amulet of Kings?"
1. Prison

Unknown

**Author's note:**** Okay, this is my first fanfic but-before you hurl yourselves behind the sofa in fear-pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese give it a chance as I've worked really hard on it and am quite happy with the end result (whether you dear readers will agree is another matter entirely). It was originally posted ages ago but, upon reading, decided it was crap and started again. The entire story has already been written so the updates shall be thick and fast, with no threat of hiatus. I have my wonderful babby sis Frenetic-Kinetic to thank for proof reading and most of my research was done using UESP wiki, so if anyone spots any inaccuracies I shall shoulder the blame before shrugging it onto them immediately ;). I did my best to eliminate spelling errors of names and places but if anyone spots any please let me know. Now, without further ado, let the first chapter commence!**

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, not even my own soul. I gave it up for cookies. Mmmmmm...cookies**

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Silver.

It's a dull blur in the distance filtering through long lashes as I muster all my strength to lift my eyelids. Dull aching caresses my forehead as coherent consciousness eludes me. My location is a temporary enigma that slowly starts to solve itself as my vision clears. The distant silvery blur is in fact tendrils of moonlight entering through a barred window positioned high above me. I realise that I am lying on my back as I try to position my head to get a better look at my surroundings, the protesting aches preventing me from doing so effectively. I close my eyes again for a moment before raising myself into a sitting position as several groans voice my body's disapproval at the upheaval. Carefully, I surveying my surroundings. The moonlight mingles with the amber torchlight to illuminate what appears to be a prison cell. _Why the Hell am I in a prison? What _happened_ to me?_ I panic when I realise that I cannot remember. I tunnel deeper and deeper into my memory, but it is a vacant, bottomless pit. After several deep, sobering breaths to chase away the remaining grogginess, I attempt to recover the last memory I have, but to no avail as panic-induced adrenaline fogs my brain. A voice informs me I am not alone as it cuts through my train of thought.

"Oh, look, an Imperial in the Imperial Prison. I guess they don't play favourites, huh?"

His words take longer to process than they should; possibly a side effect of amnesia? My perplexed silence fails to dissuade his taunting.

"Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash. How sad."

Another chorus of groans accompanies my clumsy attempt to stand and I have to lean against the stone wall on my left to remain upright. I stagger towards the metal gate at the front of my cell and grip the bars for support, allowing me a good look at the owner of the snarky voice. His white hair is swept back from his thin, olive-coloured face, allowing me to see the contemptuous expression painting it. His scowling blood-red eyes tell me that, despite being a fellow prisoner, he clearly views me as an inferior being. My hackles rise.

"Who-?" I begin.

"I bet the guards give you 'special' treatment before the end," he interjects, cutting my sentence off completely. "Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Imperial! You're going to die!"

I have officially had enough of the low-life at this point._ When I get my hands on him, I'm going to cut open his..._I stop myself. Where had _that_ thought just come from?

His pompous words assault my ears once again."Imperial criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name, you see. You're an embarrassment. Best if you just... disappeared."

Imperial. He keeps calling me that. What does it mean? Is it a race or a title? Maybe it is just the ramblings of a bitter criminal-more than likely to be honest-but my curiosity is piqued enough for me to put aside murderous feelings to ask questions. Before my curiosity can be sated, however, my fellow prisoner interrupts me yet again.

"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming for you! Hehehehe."

I hope he dies a slow, painful death, but, true to his word, distant voices echo from the staircase next to his cell. I press the side of my face to the gate to hear better but it takes a minute or two for their words to become audible.

"My sons, they're dead, aren't they?" an elderly male voice whispers.

"We don't know that, Sire," replies a stern feminine tenor. "The messenger said they were only attacked."

"No, they're dead. I know it." The elder voice is full of sorrow and regret.

"My job right now is to get you to safety."

Before I know it, four people stand before my cell. Three are armour-clad: the stern woman and two other men. The owner of the elderly voice is dressed in such regal finery that I feel my knees fidget to give an unbidden curtsey; I manage to hold them still.

"What's this prisoner doing here?" She looks at me with furious eyes but doesn't seem to actually _see_ me. The other prisoner called me an Imperial; perhaps these four are too and wish to disassociate themselves from me by looking _through_ instead of _at_ me. "This cell is supposed to be off-limits!"

One of her armoured companions mumbles apologetic excuses before she orders him to open the gate and tells me to stand by the window at the back of the cell. I obey, wondering what is going on. Are they here to see me? If not, then what's so special about this cell? Why can't I remember _anything_?

All derision has ceased from my fellow prisoner as he watches them enter my cell. The elderly man stops before me, staring and making no attempt to hide it. The skin around his eyes creases as he frowns before they widen in-was that recognition?

"You... I've seen you..." he breathes in astonishment. He takes a step towards me that I counter with one backwards. He advances once more. The wall behind me ceases my retreat. "Let me see your face... you are the one from my dreams..."

_Whoa! Hold on a minute. Dreams?_

He continues, oblivious to the discomfort that must be plainly evident on my face. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength."

"W-what's going on?" my cracked voice seems alien to my ears, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them.

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

"Why am I in jail?" Only once I've asked the question does the absurdity of it hit me. How would he bloody know? And as it turns out, he doesn't, but his answers to everything seem so mystical and cryptic. It makes me wonder who he is.

"I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim," he answers. I need to keep track of what does and doesn't come out of my mouth; it would get me into trouble soon. "By the grace of the gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too shall serve her in your own way."

"What should I do?" I ask helplessly, finding nothing else to say.

"You will find your own path," he replies, warmly. "Take care... there will be blood and death before the end."

I'm left dumbfounded by the Emperor's words as he and his Blades leave through a secret door in the stone wall facing me.

"Looks like this is your lucky day, stay out of our way," says the darker-skinned soldier to me before following the others and disappearing round the corner.

My head is a swirling mess of bewilderment as I process the last few minutes. To the end of my days I shall never fully comprehend what exactly has happened here. With a gaping great escape route beckoning me, I am not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Before running through it, I look over at the sour-faced prisoner in the cell opposite. Is it possible to enjoy this victory over him a little too much? No.

"I could get used to this "special" treatment. Farewell!" I smile smugly and wave goodbye before leaving my cell, uncertain of the fate ahead but more than ready to meet it.

**000**

_Crunch, crunch, crunch!_ The sound of dusty soil beneath my feet is almost deafening against the unnatural silence of the caverns. I have had to make my own way through here, as the Emperor's bodyguards, making no secret of their distrust, locked the door to their exit behind them before I could follow. Bastards! Oh well, I suppose this way hasn't been too bad if you discount the numerous giant rats, goblins and zombies I've encountered along the way. The rusted axe I found near the cavern's crumbling entrance was a great help. My left wrist throbs from the deep gash decorating it and goodness knows how many other bruises and minor injuries I've received so far, but the pale luminance ahead gives me hope that I am nearing the end of this murky path.

Echoes of familiar voices accompany the light and I arrive at a gaping fissure, only just realising in time that it is quite a height from the ground below. I see the Emperor and his Blades stop, murmuring to each other. I contemplate whether to rejoin them or wait until they are gone. The escape route of this place is a complete mystery to me, so following them would be best, but, having been shafted by them once already, I doubt they would have a sudden change of heart this time.

Just as I decide to climb down and join them, the stone pillar nearest the darker-skinned Blade begins to shimmer. I give my head a shake and wipe my eyes, assuming it is a fatigue-fuelled optical illusion, but it remains when I look back. The shimmering pillar starts to change colour, the pale grey stone shifting to a dull orange before an outburst of flames proceeds the arrival of three-what _are _they? Humanoid in shape, their...armour...skin...whatever it is covering them looks almost reptilian, scorched and black with patches of vivid scarlet peeking from beneath. An unearthly, distorted howl comes from the leader of the hellish trio as it swings its mace in the air, aiming for the Emperor. The attack is thwarted by the dark-skinned Blade, decapitating the monster with a deft lunge of his sword. The remaining two attackers circle their prey, unintelligible hollers of outrage spewing from their mouths. The female Blade attempts to usher the Emperor to a safe corner, but he is obviously no mere timid old man, his own sword raised defensively to block the blows of his assailants. In her momentary distraction, the female Blade is overwhelmed by one of the aggressors. A fatal strike of a mace to the head sends her to the ground, a savage kick in the face ensuring she doesn't rise anytime soon.

The inhuman barbarity sends shivers down my spine. My breathing is hoarse but the emotions accompanying those shivers are what alarm me most. Shock mingles with a menacing breed of perverse pleasure and my eyes widen as I find myself transfixed by the ghastly skirmish, each clash of weapons taking my breath away. It takes all my strength to avert my eyes, squeezing them shut and covering my ears with my hands. The muffled sounds of battle continue for what seems like an age, each agonising cry of pain sending a shudder through my body until, at last, mournful silence takes over.

Slowly opening my eyes and lowering my trembling hands, I peer out from the hole once more to see the carnage below. Five dead bodies are strewn about the blood soaked ground. Two are Blades, but the other three are not the nightmarish ghouls I saw a moment ago; they are three men clad in red velvet robes. Are they the creatures that had just attacked the Emperor? What kind of dark magic gave them their monstrous appearance? As I try to make some sort of sense of everything that is happening, a shout returns me to the present. The two survivors, the Emperor and the dark-skinned Blade, are looking right at me, the Blade ordering me to come down from my vantage point. Regaining some sort of composure, I awkwardly make my way down, landing clumsily at the Emperor's feet. Without giving me so much as a second to get to stand, the Blade's face is inches from mine, insisting I am working with the enemy and calling for my execution. I stumble back, the fury and grief on his countenance overwhelming me.

"Wait," the Emperor says, placing a restraining hand on his bodyguard's shoulder. "She is not our enemy, she will help us." He turns to me, his pale, slate-coloured eyes boring into mine. "Come with us."

I fail to see what choice I have; they are the only ones who know the way out, although the prospect of meeting more of those _things_ is not one I relish.

"What is your name?" asks the Blade, impatiently.

I'm left completely stumped. What _is_ my name? The most commonly-asked and easily-answered question faced by every single person in the world and I can't answer even if my life depended on it. What the Hell is my bloody name? A gaping black hole is residing where any sort of memory of my identity should be.

"I...I..." My lack of coherent response seems to infuriate him even more as he heads to the wall on my right, plucking the unlit torch from its mount. He murmurs a few words under his breath and a ball of flame flies from his hand to the torch, illuminating our faces with an orange glow. He shoves the torch brusquely into my hands and I fight back the tears threatening to douse my face. The Blade heads to the body of his female companion and takes a few moments to quietly study her before relieving her of her sword.

"Have you any skill with a blade?" he asks, handing me the weapon. I shake my head and he sighs. "Well, let us hope you are a quick learner. Now, stay close and do as I say."

He moves forward, the Emperor following whilst I trail behind them both. My mind is awash with confusion and countless questions. I pray to any god that will listen for the Blade to stay alive, otherwise, left to me, the Emperor's safety is in serious peril.

**000**

Not five minutes have passed before I spot another shimmer in the air and two more hideous assassins attack us. The Blade is more than capable of holding them off, wielding his sword like it is an extension of his own arm. Watching him, I once again feel that disconcerting bloodlust bubble in the pit of my stomach, dancing mischievously with my terror. I manage to contain it enough for no one to notice as we continue onwards. When we reach a barred door that leads to the sewers, the Blade attempts to push it open, but it doesn't move and he lets out an oath that reverberates off the surrounding stone walls.

"It's jammed!" he hisses, anger and frustration dripping from every word. He takes a few steps back and kicks the door with all the strength he can muster; again to no avail. Another curse and he looks around wildly. I wonder if the stress of this day has become too much for him; perhaps he is going mad.

"It's a trap," he continues, his eyes still searching his surroundings. "We need to get you somewhere safe, Your Highness."

The Blade guides us to a wall with an opening that, unless shown, I never would have realised was there, leading to a small room. He turns to me.

"Stay here while I look around for another way out. Protect the Emperor at all costs."

He disappears through the opening, leaving me with an impossible task. The old man looks at me for a moment before stepping closer.

"I can go no further," he says solemnly. "My time is over, I can feel it."

"W-what...?"

He holds up a hand to silence me. "You must help me...the Dragonfires, they must be lit! You're now all that stands between Oblivion and the destruction of our world."

"I don't under-"

"You must listen! Take this." He reaches round to the back of his neck and removes a large gold necklace, handing it to me. It weighs a ton and my jaw drops in awe. The blood red jewel hanging from it is beautiful-and massive. The Emperor continues. "This is the Amulet of Kings. Only one carrying the Septim blood can use it to light the Dragonfires."

"But you said all your sons were-"

Again, he silences me with a raised hand. "I know they are dead but there is one left. He is my illegitimate youngest son and the only person who knows he even exists is Brother Jauffre. Go to him and deliver this amulet. Help them close shut the jaws of Oblivion! "

Before I can even begin to argue, a blast of hot air knocks both of us to the ground. My sword lands several feet away and I turn to see another of those assassins emerge from the flames. Up close, it is even more gruesome looking than the others and a scream escapes my lips. In the blink of an eye its mace smashes the skull of the Emperor to a bloody pulp and chunks of flesh slap against the wall beside me. With my own life in danger there is no sign of the hazy bloodlust, survival instinct kicking in instead. I scramble on all fours towards my sword and my adrenaline-pumped body takes several tries to grasp the hilt firmly as I hear those terrible guttural shrieks behind me. I turn just as the assassin raises its arm for one powerful death strike that will end my existence. My entire body is paralyzed with fear as I realise there is nothing I can do; my life is about to end right here. Suddenly, the assailant stops mid-swing, its dreadful face contorted in what might be confusion. It studies me carefully and its eyes widen with the same recognition as the Emperor's had done. The creature's mouth opens and a garbled word escapes its lips. When I don't respond, it steps closer, repeating the word. I try to make it out_. Lin? Line-ay? Linnay?_

It drops the weapon to the ground and crouches before me, saying the word a third and final time, slower for me to understand. I make it out to be _Linny_ but what does that mean? It raises a hand tentatively to my face and gnarled fingers are about to brush my cheek when a wave of blood sprays over me and the wall behind, the tip of a sword poking through the creature's chest. It collapses on top of me, nearly crushing me with its weight. I crane my neck to look over the body, seeing the Blade looming above. He helps me roll the dead body to the ground before offering a hand to help me stand. I tremble from head to toe with shock. The Blade supports me with an arm around my waist as he looks at the bloodied form of his dead master. A dark fury clouds his face.

"Are you alright?" he asks, the anger leaving his face but not his voice. "What was that _thing_ doing to you?"

Try as he may to hide it, the suspicion is still blatant in his words. I push away from him.

"I have no idea what it was doing!" My voice is hoarse and wobbly, tears streaming down my face. "I have no idea about _ANYTHING!"_ The events of the last few hours are too much for me. I don't know who or where I am or what is going on and I've had enough_. _I need answers. "The Emperor gave me this." I hold out the amulet and the Blade's face turns ashen. "He told me to take it to someone called Brother Jauffre."

"But, the Emperor's sons...they're all dead. Without them-"

"He said he has an illegitimate son, but only this Jauffre knows about him."

"Jauffre? He's the Grandmaster of the Blades." The Blade takes a moment to think before continuing. "The Emperor must have seen or known something about you the rest of us couldn't. I don't know what it was and I don't like it but I have to trust you to take this to Jauffre. He resides in Weynon Priory, just outside of Chorrol. We must get the amulet to him at once."

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**A/N: Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnnn! Reviews are like cookies and I be the Cookie Monster...did I mention I like cookies?**


	2. A Test Of Loyalty

**Author's note: Here it is, chapter two! Again, thank you to Frenetic-Kinetic for beta-ing.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, but I will one day mwahahahahahahaha! P.s cats rule!**

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Radiant sunlight banishes the goose bumps covering my skin as its rays envelop me, filtering through my shut eyelids to cast a soft pinkish glow on my irises. The pungent stench of the sewage I had waded through not a half hour ago seems to have permeated every pore and I can just imagine it to be a cloud of luminous green odour surrounding me, blatantly visible to any passerby brave enough to come near. The leaves of the surrounding trees whisper softly in the strong breeze, the crisp air keeping the sun's temperature bearable.

This moment of tranquillity is a brief respite from the barrage of questions pestering my troubled mind. Much confusion has been laid before me in such a short space of time; it is far too much for my mind to comprehend at the moment. I need answers, but before I can get them I need to know the right questions and peopleto ask. The memory of that assassin's touch sends an icy shiver down my spine. It was such a familiar gesture and there was no mistaking the recognition in its eyes upon seeing me, but what was that word it had said? Was that my name, an affectionate term or something else entirely? Was it even a word? The guttural noises coming out of its mouth made that questionable. How did it know me? I can't have been an enemy...otherwise I would be decorating the Imperial dungeons the same way the Emperor was. That left the chilling alternative of being the creature's _ally_. I quickly dispel such thoughts as I finger the amulet resting in my lap, sending silent words of respect to the fallen Emperor. Before I know it a gruff, impatient voice wakes me from my reverie.

"We need to get moving."

I look up to see the dark-skinned Blade-whose name I now know to be Baurus-looming over me, my skin cursing his cool shadow for blocking the warmth of the sun. He looks at me expectantly, that suspicious scowl seeming to be permanently plastered to his face. I slowly rise and he turns to carry on walking, expecting me to follow. I don't, heading towards the lake sprawling a few feet before me instead. The aroma of the sewers has become too much for my nostrils and I need to wash myself somehow. Baurus realises I have not followed him and quickly turns, that ever-present frown deepening as I wade into the lukewarm water, leaving a trail of greenish brown grime behind me.

It is nearly ten minutes before I leave the water and I see him stood exactly where I left him, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently as I wring my hair dry. Despite the circumstances, I cannot stop the unbidden smirk crossing my lips as I watch him and I wonder if under very different circumstances he would also see the humour.

Perhaps not. A face that frowns that easily cannot be very accustomed to smiling. The present company may be the cause of his current displeasure but it is not beyond belief that this could be his usual temperament. The journey to Chorrol is going to be a _very_ long one.

I am right, it _is_ a long journey. Being in the company of one with such a deep mistrust for you doesn't make for good conversation. In our first day of travel the only time he even acknowledges my presence is to bark at me to keep up with his pace, forgetting that I have had nothing to eat or drink since before waking in my prison cell earlier. I am forced to wait until dusk for my first meal, a deceptively paltry-looking sort of ration bar that (almost) manages to keep me going until morning.

It is during the first night, as we sit together in front of a small, dying camp fire, that Baurus finally removes his helmet and I get my first good look at the face of my _charming_ escort. His dark skin has a russet tone to it, with cropped black hair crowning his head. His eyes are bright amber, their vibrancy alluding to a youth hidden beneath the worry lines on his face. I reckon he could almost pass for handsome when smiling, but that obviously isn't something I will find out anytime soon. I wonder where he comes from, his distinctive colouring and features unlike anyone else I have seen so far. Were he more approachable I may have been tempted to find out more about him, but my mind is crammed full with too many questions already. Uneasy silence grows between us. Eventually I tire of his wary sideways glances at me.

"I can assure you I won't slit your throat until you are fast asleep," I snap. "So you can relax until then!"

My sarcasm is met with his scowl and I lower my body to the ground, settling into a comfortable position to sleep.

_Red mist clung to every surface, obscuring her vision. Monstrous shapes towered before her as swords clashed all around, the flashes of silver shining like blazing beacons in the night. A spray of scarlet hit her face as she battled her way through the angry mob, searching frantically for her comrade in the bloody chaos. A figure advanced towards her and she raised her weapon, ready to swing it into the face of her attacker until he was close enough for her to recognise. To most the Dremora were almost indistinguishable from each other but she had been among them long enough to know the subtle identifying differences in the tracks of vibrant red decorating their scaly scorched armour, each one possessing a unique design. She breathed a sigh of relief as he stopped inches from her; the designs of this particular Dremora she would recognise anywhere. He was her partner in battle, the only person she deemed competent enough to trust with her life. Before having chance to fully form, the greeting smile about to spread across her lips was stifled. The sharp tip of a blade protruded through his chest, his grotesque armour evaporating to reveal his true face. _

"_L-Linny..." His voice was ragged and blood spurted from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground. Anguish replaced her initial confusion as her eyes fixed on his assailant, the white-hot rage contained in them causing the Imperial soldier to falter a moment. Her grip tightened on her own mace and with an eardrum bursting cry she advanced on him, smashing the side of his face with the weapon repeatedly until he collapsed to the ground. Even when the soldier's body had stopped moving she continued her onslaught, relentlessly battering his limp body, blood painting her face and neck. With each blow, the pain lessened to morph into destructive bliss, the surrounding battle attacking every one of her senses until her assault on the Imperial's body had ceased. She lowered her weapon to the ground beside her and threw her head back, eyes rolling into their sockets in ecstasy. She soaked up the chaos as it encircled her, caressing her body with a lover's touch. It was her reward for loyal servitude and the _real _reason she endlessly risked her life in battle. Chaos was like a drug, intoxicating and utterly irresistible, but the elation she felt in the midst of war surpassed any high a drug could offer. Chaos fed the bloodlust coursing through her veins, making her stronger, faster and utterly terrifying on the battlefield. Her green eyes sparkled in devilish delight as her lips parted to let out another euphoric howl, before she rejoined her other comrades._

I am utterly exhausted by the time we reach Weynon Priory. The nightmare I'd had two days ago terrified me so much that sleep has become impossible since. Combine that with a severe lack of food or water and I am beginning to resemble one of the zombies I encountered back in the prison sewers. I lumber several feet behind Baurus; by the time we reach the large wooden doors of the Priory, I am ready to collapse. I use the stone wall framing the door for support, too weak to stand under my own weight. As we wait for an answer, the Blade looks at me. I swear I see a flicker of concern cross his features, although it could be my fatigued mind playing tricks on me. Finally, the door opens and we are greeted by the friendly face of a young man clad in thick black robes.

"Welcome to Weynon Priory, a monastic retreat dedicated to Talos and the Nine Divines. I'm Prior Maborel, head of our community, and responsible for all our religious and secular affairs."

Upon seeing Baurus' armour, he immediately grants entry. However, when I attempt to follow the Blade, my legs falter and the Prior catches me before I land face first on the Priory steps. My vision goes black as I slip into the depths of unconsciousness.

"But who is she?"

"Nobody has any idea and that is what troubles me."

"The Emperor must have at least had a reason for giving her the amulet."

"_If_ he gave it to her."

Hushed voices bring me back to a hazy consciousness. A dull throbbing ache reverberates in my brain as I attempt to open my eyes. I feel cool fabric beneath my fingertips and the scent of grass is carried to my nostrils by a warm breeze. When I finally manage to force my eyelids open far enough to view my surroundings, I find myself lying in the middle of a large bed, soft blue twilight bathing the room. It takes me a moment to realize where I am, but the previous few days' events soon come flooding back to me. The door to my left is ajar, allowing murmured voices to filter through. I am about to return to my slumber, when the conversation becomes loud enough for me to realize I am its topic. With a laboured effort I move closer to the door to listen.

"I do not trust her, Master." I recognise Baurus' crotchety tone.

"We cannot be too quick to make assumptions, but a certain degree of caution would be wise until we discover more about her. Give me time to talk to her when she wakes. For now, I need you to start looking for leads on whoever was behind this attack. We need to stop them."

The shuffling of chairs and heavy footsteps finish the conversation and I hurry back to the bed before my eavesdropping is discovered. That is when something catches my eye. I stop and stare at the person looking back at me in the oval mirror hanging at eye level on the wall opposite. Is that _me_? I take four hesitant steps towards the mirror before gawking blankly at my reflection, dumbfounded by the fact that absolutely _nothing_ is familiar. Brilliant green eyes are what initially draw my attention, making an otherwise unremarkable face unforgettable. Pale skin is framed by straggly satin blonde hair tumbling haphazardly over my shoulders and down to my waist. My face is caked in dirt and goodness knows what else. I touch a finger to my cheek to ensure what I see before me is actually real. I end up so engrossed in my own reflection that I fail to notice the candlelit glow announcing the entrance of another person. When I finally become aware of another presence in the room, I spin to face whoever is stood behind me. He is a balding man clad in brown robes similar to those of Prior Maborel, a strip of grey hair reaching from ear to ear. His face has the same kindly expression the younger Prior's carried, but with an added hint of severity.

"I trust you slept well," he says. "I am Brother Jauffre. We have much to disscuss."

I follow him out of the bedroom to what I assume must be his library. Bookcases line the walls, crammed full of dusty old tomes, with more books decorating a small table by a window. He offers me the chair as he perches on the table edge.

"First thing's first," he begins in a matter-of-fact tone. "Who are you and how did you end up with the Amulet of Kings?"

"I...I don't know who I am," I reply weakly, my cheeks flushing. "Or why the Emperor gave me that amulet. He said that I was all that stood between Oblivion and the destruction of the world. That I had to deliver it to you." I panic when I realise the amulet is no longer in my possession.

"Calm yourself," Jauffre says, patting my trembling right hand. "It is safe. Continue."

I relay Uriel Septim's words and tell of the journey here, leaving out the parts about the assassin's recognition of me and my nightmare. The monk listens intently, his face giving away no hints of whether he believes me or not. When I finish, he rubs a hand across his chin thoughtfully.

"You honestly remember nothing before waking in the prison?"

I shake my head. He gives me an unreadable look for a moment before continuing. "I am one of the few who know about Martin. It is imperative we find him and bring him here to safety. If the enemy knows of his existence, as is likely, he is in terrible danger." He looks at me once again, more thoughtful this time. I try not to squirm under his gaze; whatever he is planning cannot bode well.

"Baurus doesn't trust you," he continues. "And I must say I cannot entirely blame him, your story being as remarkable as it is. I have met many a rogue in my time and become quite adept at seeing through even the most carefully crafted lies." His dark eyes bore into mine, seeming to search for something. "However, I also learnt long ago not to judge a book by its cover. Unless you are an incredible actress I can detect no deceit in you so I am willing to give you a chance. A test of loyalty, if you will. I want you go to Kvatch and bring Martin Septim here."

My jaw hangs open in disbelief. Has he really just asked me to deliver the heir to the throne to him? As tests of loyalty go, that one takes some beating. I study Jauffre's face, looking for some sign of the sham behind the request. Maybe he's testing my reaction, attempting to gain some insight to my character. I mull over the options. I think part of me had secretly hoped to be able to simply hand over the amulet and be done with it, but where would I go from there? I have no idea if any family is waiting for me and I don't even _want_ to know my connection to those hideous assassins. At present I am a blank canvas-no past, no future. But I can change that. I can craft a new path for myself and perhaps finding Martin Septim is the perfect beginning.

The tiniest quiver of something unidentifiable begins to simmer in the pit of my stomach. Hope? It certainly could be and I look the monk sat before me square in the eye.

"How do I get to Kvatch?"

A piercing scream escapes my dry, cracked lips. Beads of sweat roll down my face and I sweep the hair obscuring my sleep-fogged vision distractedly back from my face. The nightmare, _again_. Will it ever stop? I cannot go another night without sleep, especially if I am expected to begin my journey to Kvatch tomorrow. The last couple of days of sleep deprivation meant that what was supposed to be a basic combat lesson earlier today felt much more like actually going into battle and a deep slumber had no trouble finding me tonight. My hopes of it being peaceful have been effectively dashed, however. I look out the window at the inky star-speckled sky and wonder at the time. No signs of dawn are yet visible, but I know there is no possibility of me getting any more sleep now. The face of that assassin as he reverts to his human form will be forever imprinted in my subconscious; I could recognise him amongst a sea of people in an instant. That thought makes me shudder. In an attempt at distraction, I try to focus on the task ahead of me-finding Martin Septim. How will I recognise him? How much of his past does he know? Will he believe me when I tell him and _how _will I tell him? I pass the last few hours of the night contemplating those very questions.

"Come on! Run while there's still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!"

I stare blankly for a moment as a tall, golden-skinned man comes hurtling towards me, his eyes wide with panic. Auburn hair falls wildly around his face as he stops before me, bracing himself with his hands on my shoulders as he catches his breath.

"What...?" I begin.

"They're everywhere!" the crazed man cries, his grip tightening. "They overran Kvatch last night, opened a portal to Oblivion...Deadra everywhere..." He rambles, his breathlessness making his speech difficult to understand.

"Wha...?" Once again my information gathering is thwarted.

"There were glowing portals...a monstrous being...fire everywhere and they swarmed..." a choked sob. " They can't be stopped! THEY CAN'T BE STOPPED!"

I wince as his nails dig into my flesh and, with some difficulty, remove his hands from my shoulders.

"Stop," I command. "Tell me what is happening!" My brusque tone seems to work on him as he ceases his babbling, looking me properly in the eye for the first time.

"They came last night, out of nowhere," he explains. "Opened a portal right outside the city. It was a bloodbath!" I can hear the panic rise in his voice once more. His grip-now around my hands-tightens."It was Savlian Matius...some of the other guards...helped some of us escape...they cut their way out, right through the city gates. Savlian says they can hold the road. No...no, I don't believe him. Nothing can stop them. If you'd seen it, you'd know...I'm getting out of here before it's too late! They'll be here any minute, I'm telling you. Run while you can!" And with that he suddenly releases my hands and runs as fast as his gangly legs will carry him.

I appraise the situation before me. A few dozen people are scattered about what looks like a hastily put together refugee campsite, located at the bottom of a long steep hill. The faces of all are grim and some desolate. I ask the person nearest me what exactly happened and he obliges me with a much more coherent explanation of the dreadful events. The city was overrun by Daedra the night before and now a few soldiers and guards are fighting back the creatures coming from an Oblivion gate blocking the entrance to the city. Daedra. The word sends curious shivers up my spine. I quickly shake it off before thanking my informant and heading up the hill.

The further up I go, the warmer the air seems to get. I assume it to be my exertions but then I notice something unusual about the sky. Sunset has long since passed, so I know that isn't the cause of the red mottled clouds gathering above me. As I near the top of the hill, the sky turns a deep crimson, the pattern suddenly reminding me of the armour of those terrible assassins. Flashbacks of my nightmare hit me and I stumble back, momentarily stunned by them. Shouts return me to the present and I head towards them. That is when I finally see it.

The Oblivion gate. It rears up from the ground on tall, menacing stalagmites of stone in a gigantic ellipse of fire. Tongues of flame spew from its centre, emanating such a heat that I am sweat-sodden within minutes of approaching it. The ground surrounding it is scorched and all nearby plant life is either wilted or burnt to ash. Skeletal, diminutive figures guard the gate, balls of flame flying from their hands towards the soldiers gathered several feet away. Chaos crackles in the air and I feel a light dizziness thrum in my brain. I can almost taste the fear and panic as the hateful and mischievous little creatures taunt the soldiers. Despite the obvious danger, I cannot resist the urge to get a closer look, bizarre jolts of déjà vu encouraging me. The harsh glint of silver catches my eye, breaking me from my trance.

"Who are you? I told you all to stay down there where it's safe; this is no place for civilians!"

A tall, discerning man stands before me, his armour being what caught my attention.

"I..." I take a moment to compose myself. "I'm looking for Savlian Matius," I reply, stepping out of his reach as he attempts to usher me away.

"That's me. Now you need to get out of here; I don't have time for interrogations."

"I need to find Martin," I say, stubbornly.

"The priest? Last I saw, he was heading towards the Chapel of Akatosh with a group of people. With any luck he's trapped in there with them meaning he's safe for now, otherwise..." he trails off before once again trying to remove me from the scene. "Well, the only entrance to the city is behind that damned Oblivion gate," he cries, clearly irritated, but I don't care. The enemy Jauffre spoke of has obviously already found Martin. I pray they haven't got to him yet. Savlian continues. "So, unless you plan on shutting that bloody thing there isn't much anyone can do right now!"

Inhuman shrieks interrupt us and I turn to see those peculiar little creatures looking right at me, pointing and dancing around as they do so. The brow of the soldier beside me furrows in bewilderment as he reaches for his sword. When the creatures advance on us he yells orders at the other men. Cries of pain cut off his words as fireballs engulf several of them and they collapse to the ground, the smell of burning hair and flesh joining the acrid scent already filling the air. I try to control my ragged breathing, once again perturbed by the waves of disgusting pleasure hitting me with every howl of agony. I struggle to block it out. A huge ball of flame aimed for Savlian hits the rock behind us and the force of it sends us both flying into the air. Pain explodes in my head as I collide with the rough ground and I taste blood in my mouth. The heat scorches my skin and as I rise unsteadily to my feet, I find myself barely a foot from the Oblivion gate. Before I can utter a word of surprise, something slams into my back, the force of it throwing me head-first towards the mouth of the gate. The maniacal laughter and jeers of those impish creatures is the last thing I hear before being swallowed by the fiery jaws of Oblivion.

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**A/N: Phew! This fanficking malarky is hard work! Hope this story is keeping you readers entertained so far, please feel free to r&r!**


	3. The Meaning Of Respect

**Author's note: ****Here we are-chapter three! Thanks again to Frenetic-Kinetic for her beta-reading and to every for reading this story. What are everyone's thoughts so far? Hopefully it's fitting the source material well.**

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The chaotic atmosphere outside the gate was nothing compared to what I am experiencing here. I spend several minutes crouched on all fours, my over-stimulated mind too dizzy for me to erect myself fully. I don't understand what causes this disturbing arousal whenever I encounter violence, but I need to find a way of controlling it before it gets me killed. My breathing eventually regulates and I can raise my head without the world spinning in circles. A hot wind hits my already sweltering body, the heat something I will never acclimatise to. I gasp in shock as I take a proper look at the harsh environment. The red mist of my nightmare that has haunted my sleeping eyes for over a week now is also assaulting my waking ones. It is everywhere and the garish scarlet filter it places on my vision causes my head to throb.

Unlike in my nightmare, the present battle taking place before me is tiny, comprising of a lone Kvatch soldier swatting back a couple of those grotesque imps-and he is losing. It takes some time for my slow-witted mind to cotton on to the fact that he could use my help, however limited that might be. I run to his aid, mentally check-listing through everything I was taught briefly by Brother Jauffre. The sword feels cumbersome and awkward in my hands, but with both of them firmly gripping the hilt, I swing for the sprite nearest me. I miss. Luckily it causes enough distraction for the soldier to guillotine its head clean off before finishing his other assailant.

Breathless and bloodied, he turns to look at me, the gratitude plain on his face.

"Thank the Nine! I never thought I'd see another friendly face..." he begins, wiping sweat sodden strands of dark hair back from his forehead. "Gods, you're almost a child! Are they so low on men that they're recruiting maidens now?"

I make no attempt to hide the offence on my face. "I could leave if you'd prefer to wait for better aid." The acid drips off my tongue.

"Forgive me," he says, immediately repentant. "I meant no offence. This place has drained the last of my courtesy, I fear."

"What happened and where _are_ we? Is this actually Oblivion?"

"It is indeed," he replies, a mournful expression on his face. "And every bit as terrible as the tales describe. The others...they were taken to the tower. Captain Matius sent us in to try and close the gate. We were ambushed, trapped, and picked off. I managed to escape, but the others are strewn across that bridge. A group of men were sent to investigate another gate that had opened a couple of weeks ago close to Kvatch, but they never returned. If they, too, ended up here I doubt they are still alive, but I need to at least try to find them. A close friend of mine, Menien, was among them."

"I'm afraid my swordsmanship leaves much to be desired," I admit sheepishly, the blush tingeing my face thankfully hidden by the red mist surrounding us. Perhaps I _should_ leave and let him wait for better aid. "I was sent to find Brother Martin and arrived here accidentally." Disappointment threatens to douse his features before I continue, hoping to somewhat alleviate his woes. "But I'll help you find your comrade if you wish."

"Good swordswomman or no, your help is better than none," he says, diplomatically.

"What is your name?" I ask.

"Ilend Vonius," he answers, the ghost of a weary smile playing at his cracked lips. "And yours?"

I am ready for this and before I realise what I am saying, my answer is "Linny." I try to ignore the chills racing up and down my spine at the implications of this decision. "So what do we do now?"

"We head that way," Ilend answers, pointing to the gnarled footpath on his right.

It looks dark and dangerous. I push back the apprehension threatening to freeze my limbs as I follow him.

As we travel I observe Ilend closely, studying every move in the hope that I can gleam some tips for myself. His eyes are constantly shifting, as though seeing everything at once. He is light on his feet, his body tensed and ready to spring in whichever direction trouble comes first. I barely even notice the ambush waiting for us before he has slain two enemies within seconds. Two imps head towards me and I ready myself for the onslaught. Dodging their fireballs is hard when burdened with a heavy sword and one barely misses, singeing the ends of my braided hair. The imp nearest me jumps back several steps as I advance on him, swinging my weapon with as much force as I can muster. As the silver tip finally comes into contact with my enemy's chest, one of the remaining imp's fireballs hits me square in the ribs and I fall to the floor at the same time as my target-me gasping in excruciating pain, my target gurgling blood. Ignoring the pain, I struggle back to my feet, rising just in time to clumsily parry the blow of a rusted mace swinging for my face. The collision of my sword with the ground is greeted with a loud clang and I dive after it. Before I can grasp the weapon, the Deadric soldier lifts me to my feet by my braid, my scalp burning in protest. He near-enough throws me up against the rocky wall behind him and the pain of my scalp and ribs is joined by the sensation of something very sharp ramming into the small of my back. With a hand around my throat, my monstrous aggressor howls furiously at me, spittle landing on my face as his grip squeezes tighter around my neck. I struggle with all my might, my flailing legs connecting with his grotesquely armoured body several times, vainly attempting to loosen the fingers that threaten to crush my windpipe.

As my life force starts to slowly trickle away, a bizarre sort of calm comes over me. Colour seems to fade and my surroundings blur out of focus as I lock gazes with the demon before me. A powerful force thrums in my brain as an indecipherable language escapes my lips, the pitch and volume rising with every syllable. Heat rises from deep within me and that-now familiar-feeling of delicious chaos embraces me. My assailant's eyes are wide with terror now as I scream at it. It tries to let go of my throat, but my grip is holding its wrist fast in place as a white light begins to shimmer within my palm. Its radiance increases along with the heat inside me and the volume of my voice until the light and noise reach fever-pitch. The ground beneath my feet starts to rumble and the last thing I remember before blacking out is the sickening sound of my assailant's scull impacting with the ground after catapulting away from me.

**000**

"_Hush, my child."_

_The voice was soothing, almost fatherly. For many, that was comforting, yet for her, fatherly meant nothing but pain and fear. She sat bolt upright, her chest rising and falling rapidly in synch with her little heart. Where was she? It was somewhere dark-only a small burning torch in the corner gave any illumination. The owner of the voice moved to stand before her, the torchlight behind framing his tall silhouette with a golden halo. The fear that had consumed her a moment ago melted away as she realised she wasn't in the presence of her father. It didn't matter who this stranger was or what he wanted; it wouldn't-_couldn't_-be anything worse than her father. _

_The stranger crouched before her and she could just about make out some of his features. The first thing she noticed was the pointed tips of his ears, identifying him as an elf. She had always found that race of people fascinating. His golden skin glowed like burnished bronze when the torchlight struck and her young eyes were lost in his, the intensity of those orbs as they studied her innocent face impossible to shift focus from._

"_What is your name?" His voice was hypnotic. The kind that could silence an entire room without rising above a whisper and captivate an entire audience effortlessly. And she was captivated. Power exuded from every pore of his body and without a second's thought she answered him, breathless from the awe induced by his presence._

"_Linny," she replied hoarsely. _

_There was a pause before her companion spoke again. "How did you find us?"_

_Linny shook her head, trying to recall some of her memory. It was hazy, but the harder she thought, the more she remembered. She was running. Her father was chasing her. He had consumed an exceptional amount of alcohol and decided the fruit of his loins needed a lesson in respecting his elders. That thought almost made her snort. Respect? Ha! She would show it the moment he earned it. With a start she realised her snort had been audible. The dim lighting made her unsure, but she suspected she could make out a smirk on his face._

"_What is so funny, my dear?" he queried._

"_Respect," was her brave, cryptic response._

_He resumed his study of her and she allowed a tiny trickle of apprehension to roll down her spine as she wondered if she had given the wrong answer. _

"_And why does it make you laugh?"_

_Her apprehension was slowly morphing into real fear. Maybe there _were_ others out there as bad as her father. But the fear currently plaguing her was different to that which she felt in her father's presence. She felt true power surrounding this man. She had thought her mead-sodden hulk of a creator was powerful, but it was insignificant compared with the elf before her. He didn't threaten, raise his fist or even elevate his voice beyond a whisper. And she respected him for that. He didn't need to scare people into fearing him; there was no false bravado with this man. Within five minutes, her heart, body and soul was his to do with as he wished._

_Realising he was waiting for an answer, and before Linny could stop herself, everything tumbled out in a high-pitched rushed mess. She told him everything-about the beatings, verbal abuse, even the large hands that occasionally wondered too far up her eight year old thighs if the alcohol levels in her father's system were high enough. That had been a relatively recent development in their relationship. Her mother never stopped any of it; she didn't want to draw the fists' attention. Linny's one-man audience listened wordlessly as the child huddled before him poured out her heart, his expression unreadable._

"_And then he wanted to teach me the meaning of respect," she sobbed. "I told him it was hard to learn anything when he constantly knocked it out of my head." Her father hadn't liked that comment. Why she'd said it was a mystery even to her, a rare moment of ill-judged humour. Linny had thought he was going to actually kill her at that moment, so she'd run as fast as her little legs could carry her. The journey from there onwards had been a blur and she couldn't have told anyone how she ended up in the sewers beneath the Imperial City._

_Linny's tale eventually concluded, but the tears didn't cease. They ran silently down her face as her companion watched._

"_And what do you plan to do now that you are here?"_

_Linny had no answer for that. Surely that was up to him. She did know one thing though. "I don't want to go back to _him_. Please, please, _please_ don't make me go back! I'll do anything."_

_The elf considered this proposal for a moment. The silence was long and the little girl feared the worst._

"_I believe," he began, running a thumb and forefinger across his jaw thoughtfully. "I may have use of someone like you."_

**000**

Blue pools awash with alarm greet me as consciousness returns. Ilend is knelt beside my horizontal body, his eyes barely inches from mine as he searches for signs of life. As my lids flutter open languorously, an audible sigh of relief escapes his lips, followed by a small smile.

"Thank the Nine," he breathes, brushing hair out of my face. "Are you alright, Linny?"

That name steals the breath from my lungs and I gasp, flashbacks of my latest...what _are_ they? Dreams? Visions? _Memories_? Well, whatever this last one was, that name being spoken out loud makes my head throb painfully. My face must betray my inner turmoil as Ilend's brow creases with worry.

"What is it?" he asks. "Are you hurt?"

I negate his question with a shake of my head, immediately regretting such an action with the fresh wave of pain that accompanies it. Ilend lowers his sword to the ground and clasps my right hand in his, wrapping his free arm around my waist to carefully lever me upright. His features are arranged in the oddest expression as he studies me.

"What?" I ask bluntly.

"What in the name of Akatosh just happened?" His gaze falls over his shoulder and mine follows. Numerous charred bodies lay on the ground, with a mangled, bloodied corpse lying several feet away, the remains of its skull adorning the nearby ground. I look away before the unnerving bloodlust can override my senses.

"I-I don't know," is my honest reply. I step back from my support beam, my gaze fixed straight ahead. I just want to find the soldier's comrade and leave this hellish place. Every second spent here is becoming more and more distressing. Ilend Vonius seems to sense my mood and surveys his surroundings. He moves away from me and, as I refuse to look in the direction he has headed, I don't know what he is doing. The answer comes in the form of my blade in his hand, being held out to me. I take it from him, smiling gratefully as he says "This way, I think."

Apart from an occasional fireball-wielding imp, our journey is relatively peaceful-as peaceful as any journey through a hellish dimension can be. The companionable silence with Ilend is a welcome reprieve from Baurus' suspicious glares and he thankfully hasn't brought up the earlier incident. I wish to forget about that and the ensuing dream as soon as possible-however _im_possible that may be.

Lost in my ruminations, Ilend nudges my shoulder to grab my attention. I look up and looming over us is the ominous shadow of the tower holding Menien Goneld. Its design is just as hideously oppressive as its surroundings. It looks almost as though it is carved from charred and bloodied bone, the bodies my companion had spoken of just visible, impaled on spires to decorate the narrow bridge that joins this tower to another. I shudder involuntarily (whether from fear or another emotion, I am unsure) and look down to see Ilend's fists clenched-as is his jaw. A few facial muscles ripple as he attempts to control his rage. I place a hesitant hand on his arm.

"Will you be alright?" I ask.

He nods curtly and we both step forward. My eyes widen upon seeing the entrance door. What is it made of? A morbid curiosity overcomes me and I step closer until I am barely inches away. Upon entering the Oblivion gate, I thought I had seen every shade of red possible, but the material of the door reveals even more. A tentative touch tells me the material is smooth and dry. My throat dries when realisation dawns on me. Is that..._human skin_? Sense decrees I should feel horrified by this, but I'm not. I'm fascinated. A clearing of the throat ends my hypnosis and I give myself a mental shake. The sooner I leave, the better. I heave the door open and the temperature cools immediately, but before either of us can appreciate it, something collides with my face. I scream and jump back, batting the wet, sticky object away from me. Congealed blood marks my hands and I look up to see what attacked me. My jaw hangs open in astonishment at the mutilated body hanging upside down in front of me. Ilend pushes it aside to reveal more, all tied at the feet by ropes secured to the ceiling.

"They will pay for this," he mutters, darkly. "By the Nine they will pay."

A cry travels down the steps of the never ending spiral staircase before us "Who's there?"

Ilend seems to recognise the voice at once and flies up the stairs towards the speaker. I follow much more slowly, taking in my surroundings. My mind half-heartedly attempts to repel the beauty of the design amidst the horror, but quickly relents. Who could have possibly built this place? The mottled blood-red design of the clouded sky in Kvatch is present all over the walls of this magnificent tower. I finish my admiration as I reach the top to see a naked battered man hunched over in a metal cage.

"Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" I presume this caged man to be Menien Goneld. His voice is raspy, desperation dripping from every word. "You must get to the top of the large tower. The Sigil Keep, they call it. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry! The Keeper has the key-you must get the key!"

Disquiet paints Ilend's face as he processes this information given to him in such a rushed, panicked tone. His eyes meet mine as I move towards them. Menien spins when I reach the cage and instantly flies back with a scream.

"Y-you," he sputters, his face contorted with horror. "GET BACK!" He roars. Ilend and I both jump back, startled by the greeting given to me. "Depleted your flesh supplies, Whore, so you've come back for more?" Menien continues, fear supplanted by outrage. "I hope you pay greatly for your crimes!"

So jolted by this accusation am I that I'm ready to bolt back down the stairs. Ilend holds a hand up to stop me.

"Wait," he says as he puts an arm through the cage to grab his crazed comrade's shoulder, turning him away from me. "What are you doing, friend? She is a harmless maiden. You have suffered greatly in this place but we have come to save you."

"Save me?" Menien's voice is a panicked whisper now, both his hands desperately clutching Ilend's shoulders in a vice-like grip. "She tortured me! Murdered and mutilated my men. She's a demon!"

Ilend's gaze flits between his friend and I. He steps away from the cage and towards me. "Is this true?" he asks.

"Wha-what?" My shock makes speech difficult.

"I said, is it true?" Ilend's face is starting to cloud with anger.

"I've never seen him before in my life!"

"LIES!" cries my accuser.

"How did you get here, into Oblivion?" Ilend asks.

I cannot believe this! "I already told you, by accident!"

"What _kind_ of accident?" He takes a few more steps towards me and I shrink back against the wall.

"I don't know, one minute I am talking to Captain Matius, the next I am here."

"Don't believe her!" interjects Menien once again.

"How do I know that's true? Why would he accuse you so adamantly?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" I scream as frustration, anger, fear and confusion clamber over one another for dominance.

Another scream sounds behind us, terrible and inhuman. I hear thudding footsteps and whirl, jabbing wildly with my sword to fend off the attacker. The creature easily dodges my assault and, with one hand gripping my arm, hurls me towards the opposing wall. My body meets it with a hard smack before I land face first onto the floor. Menien's shouts mingle with the clash of metal and, using the wall for support, I clumsily raise myself upright as I see Ilend blocking the vicious attacks of the Daedra. I feel myself becoming entranced by the fight and have to wrench my attention away by looking for a weapon. Goodness knows where mine has landed and there is nothing on the ground for me to use. A flash of silver makes me head for Menien's cage. He jumps back, fearing an attack from me and I ignore him as I yank with a strength I never knew I possessed to release the sword from between the bars of the cage. Once it is finally free I assess the situation. Ilend is being cornered by the wall to my left, so I circle around the cage until I am behind the Deadric warrior. Before any common sense can kick in, I lunge at it, the blade clenched in my raised fists. My first strike is in its arm and the creature howls, swinging the injured limb to slap me across the face before Ilend uses the distraction to finish it.

Pain blazes across the left side of my face and something warm trickles into my mouth.

"Urhhh..." is my incoherent response as I wipe away the blood leaking from my nose.

Ilend watches me as he takes a moment to catch his breath. "Do...you still...think...she's one...of them?" he asks his friend, his eyes never leaving mine.

Menien is silent. I see my sword laying a few steps down the staircase and stagger towards it as Ilend goes to the prisoner. They mutter to each other for a few minutes, voices too low for me to hear.

"Linny."

I look up, surprised to be addressed. A dull ache has begun in my temple, a painful frown accompanying each throb.

"Search that Daedra," Ilend commands. "Check for a key."

I obey, simultaneously repelled and excited by the prospect. A huge chunk of the creature's neck is missing, the wound spouting a stream of blood. Up close I can properly study these creatures for the first time. I have to stop myself gasping at the sheer _beauty_ of the armour. From afar all I could see was black and scarlet but now I see intricate gold filigree decorating the creature's entire body as it shimmers in the light. I place a hand against the metal, trying to hide my relish in the warmth it emits. Unnerved by these sensations, I quickly find and remove the key from a chain attached to the daedra's cuirass. I hand it to Ilend. He nods in thanks before turning back to Menien.

"Don't trust her!" he hisses.

"We will come back for you, my friend," replies Ilend as he ushers me towards the stairs.

"Don't do this; you don't know what she's capable of!"

The pleading cries of Menien Goneld follow us as we retreat down the spiral staircase, each one cutting straight through me.

**000**

The last tower pales in significance compared to this one. More shudders race up and down my spine as we enter, met by a blast of heat. A current of fire seems to run right through the centre of the building. I dread to comprehend what dark magic powers this evil place. With no clue as to where the Sigil Keep Menien mentioned is, we have to search the entire tower from the bottom up. Luckily we encounter no more than two or three Daedra at once. The mages are the worst and by the time we have neared the top of this monstrous tower, I have had enough blasts of fire and lightning to last several people a lifetime. It will probably take the lifetimes of several people for me to fully recover from this ordeal, although, my skill with a blade is improving with each enemy met. I have even managed to hit a couple intentionally.

"It's locked," says Ilend as we reach yet another door. "This must be it."

Neither of us can hide the relief we feel. It is probably only the second sentence he has spoken to me since leaving his comrade. I have not been blind to his suspicious sideways glances at me either. The earlier camaraderie we shared has disappeared and I may as well have Baurus with me for all the amity I feel. The lock clicks and he pushes the door open. I follow him as we step carefully through the threshold, listening for any sign of enemies. The roar of fire greets our ears as we come to an archway leading to a smaller room. In the middle is a large metal ring, suspended from the ceiling by thick metal chains. The river of fire that ran through the rest of the tower culminates into a waterfall here, a small black orb atop it. The noise is deafening and I have to shout to be heard.

"What do we do now?" I yell.

A glint of silver catches my eye and I see a sword hit the ground beside me. Confused, I whirl to see Ilend fall, his torso nearly sliced in two. I duck, narrowly missing the swing of a mace. The Daedra snarls in frustration. I rise and attempt to run forward, but a jerk at the back of my surcoat forces me down. Undeterred, I scramble on all fours towards the stone, but the Daedra has still got hold of my coat, pulling me closer and closer to my death. With my limited experience in swordsmanship I am unable to wield my weapon from this angle. In sheer bloody panic I am temporarily at a complete loss as to what I can do, until I remember that my surcoat is removable. In my haste I struggle, the sleeves of a garment several sizes too big suddenly feeling far too tight, but eventually manage to twist my way free. I leap towards the Sigil Stone, my palms connecting with the object as three things happen simultaneously:

Blinding light.

Pain.

Darkness.


	4. First Fireball

**Author's note:**** So, I have reached chapter four at last but note the lack of reviews :( that could mean either my story is so bad, no one can find the words to describe such a crime to literature, or it's so amazing all readers are left speechless. For the sake of my ego i shall believe the latter XD. Enjoy!**

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"_Concentrate."_

_Linny squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating harder than she ever had before. _

"_Visualise."_

_She obeyed, soon lost in a daydream of amber, red and gold. The colours danced together until a small ball of flame materialized behind her closed lids. "I see it!" she exclaimed triumphantly._

"_Good," he nodded in approval. "Keep the image in your mind. Now open your eyes."_

_Once again, the girl complied. Slowly, so as not to break her concentration, Linny raised her closed lids, the living quarters of the dark cave now know as home greeting her eyes._

"_Raise your left arm, palm upwards," the quiet, authoritative voice continued._

_His novice did so unquestioningly. He had been training her for several weeks now, the progress slow to start with, but since conquering the restoration spell it had sped up considerably. She was now perfecting the fireball spell and finding it a little difficult-not surprising considering she was attempting to make a fireball materialize in the palm of her hand. So, stood up straight with her hand raised to chin level, Linny awaited her next instruction, already feeling the tingle of anticipation flow through her veins._

"_Now, are you concentrating?" her teacher asked, a hint of light teasing in his tone. She nodded enthusiastically. "Close your eyes and visualise the fireball once again."_

_Her eyelids dropped and it took less than a second for the vibrant hues of the flame to reappear._

"_Now, slowly open your eyes, keeping the fireball in sight the entire time."_

_Linny did so, trying with all her might to burn the image of that enticingly destructive orb onto her retinas. Her spirit sank at the sight of the empty palm before her, but the sound of her instructor's voice brought any self pity to a grinding halt._

"_Focus, Linny, focus."_

_A hint of frustration clouded her emotions, but she followed his instructions, her emerald eyes squinting. For a brief second, she thought she saw a flicker of dim light just above her outstretched palm. She tried again, her forehead dampening with perspiration from the ferocity of her mental exertions. Once again the amber light flickered, but managed to hold for a couple of seconds before sputtering out. A spark of excitement dashed through her, temporarily breaking her concentration._

"_Focus!"_

_Her concentration snapped back into place and she tried once more, this time feeling a tremor of energy reverberate in her brain. Travelling down her throat and shoulder, it trickled along the length of her arm. When it reached her palm, it was joined by a sudden wave of heat, uniting in a blast of flame emitted from her fingertips. She yelped, more from surprise than pain and a soft chuckle came from her teacher. She brought her trembling hand closer to her eyes for inspection before sucking her fingers, immense fascination and confusion painting her features._

"_I do believe," he commented, still chuckling. "That was your first fireball."_

**000**

Fire swims through me. The pain is excruciating, but I am powerless to stop it. Lashings of flame whip my neck and shoulders and my skin feels as though it is being stabbed by thousands of needles. Wind rushes past my ears, but after some time I realise they are pained gasps escaping my throat. Moisture runs down either side of my face and the gasps are joined by choked sobs, the movement of my vocal chords against my parched throat only adding to the torture. Just as I am ready to beg the person nearest to end my life, something blessedly cool absorbs into my skin, seeping through to my muscles and eventually into my veins. It travels the length of my body, granting glorious relief from my suffering. Within a few minutes, the fire is extinguished completely and I can finally rest.

It is several hours before I wake once again and, rallying the last of my strength, I force open my eyelids. Each one feels like it is made of lead and the effort leaves me exhausted. A pair of greyish-blue eyes is the first sight to greet me. Mental focus is beyond my capacity for the moment and I spend far too long just gazing into them, lost in the multiple shades of colour they contain. A cold breeze brings an unfortunately-familiar sound to my ears. Despite not having heard it for some time, it is immediately recognisable and deftly pulls my attention from the eyes above me. A groan is wrenched unintentionally from my throat and the brows framing the eyes crinkle in concern.

"What is it?" asks a soft, deep voice, identifying the eyes' owner as male. "Has the pain returned?"

I answer with a shake of my head, a motion that rewards me with several jolts of pain in the back of my neck. _But I'm about to be_ is my mind's silent reply. The woeful sound that has managed the impossible feat of lowering my already despondent mood is now loud enough to mean the cause is on my immediate left.

"Is she awake yet?" asks Baurus.

_What in the name of all that is good and holy is _he_ doing here?_ I want to scream at my annoying shadow, but weakness prohibits me.

"Only just," replies the other man.

"I need to speak with her."

Anger has given me an energy boost. Whilst shaking my head furiously, I manage to hold my arms up to keep him back. My distress is plainly evident and the other man immediately ushers Baurus away, informing him that I am in no fit state for talking just yet. My saviour soon returns and sets about wiping my forehead with a cool, damp cloth. After a moment, he enquires as to the identity of my 'friend'.

"A pain in my backside that has yet to find a healing spell strong enough to dispel it." The sourness of my tone is a little stronger than intended, but the skin encircling the slate blue eyes crinkles with mirth. "What happened? Where am I?" My subject change is not subtle, but I do not care.

"Allow me to finish your healing and then I shall answer your questions."

I nod and close my eyes once more. Another wave of refreshing cool hits me and I actually notice a marked difference in comfort as it finishes its healing journey. I open my eyes, and, while not yet able to do somersaults and cartwheels, I feel much more alert. The pain is considerably lessened now too and I carefully lever myself up into a sitting position, the arm of my healer around my shoulders a considerable help.

"Would you care for some food or drink?" he asks.

This is my first proper look at his face and I am struck by an odd sense of familiarity, especially in those eyes of his. I nod distractedly and he raises himself from his knees to head off somewhere behind me. I get a brief view of my environment and find myself sat on a blanket in a row of three other people. The person nearest me is a young man with a bloodied bandage wrapped around his head. He lies with his eyes closed in the same position as I was previously and it is hard to tell whether or not he is alive; his breathing so shallow his chest barely moves. The two other casualties are female-one elderly and the other a child. The elderly woman, her arm in a sling, seems to be comforting the child. I have to pull my gaze away quickly from the little girl. The left side of her face is horribly scarred and a stump wrapped in cloth remains where her forearm should be. The smile on her little face makes the scene all the more heartbreaking.

Approaching footsteps draw my attention and a small plate of dried meat and bread lands on my lap, a cup of water set beside me.

"Eat up and I shall answer your questions," says the healer, sitting cross-legged before me. I comply and a loud grumble from my stomach declares just how famished I actually am.

"You are currently sat in the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch."

I look around me and find that I am indeed inside the stone walls of a small chapel. There are quite a few people huddled in small groups together, all looking battered and weary. Despite their sorry appearances, the atmosphere is a mixture of joy and anticipation. I spy several glances my way, with a few people waving a greeting to me. I look at my companion, confused. He gives a small smile.

"It seems we are in your debt and you have acquired the new title of Hero of Kvatch."

I blink in astonishment before the city's name brings a tidal wave of memory to me. The rush of images and sounds running through my mind makes me dizzy. The man running towards me, urging me to flee. The soldiers dodging the attacks of imps. Savlian Matius flying to the ground after a fireball attack. The Oblivion Gate. I shudder involuntarily and refuse to focus on the rest; there will be time for that later.

"How...did I get out?" That is the only part of the experience I cannot recall.

"That I cannot answer. You were carried in here yesterday by your friend over there. From what I've been told, it seems you somehow managed to close the cursed thing." An expression of disbelief and awe flashes over his features before he quickly composes them.

Our talk is interrupted by heavy footsteps and I look up to see the unwelcome face of Baurus looming above.

"Perhaps now you are in a fit state to talk?"

I make no attempt to hide the displeasure on my face, but know the sooner it is out of the way the better. The healer heads over to his other patients, allowing Baurus to take his spot opposite me.

"What are you doing here?" I demand rudely.

"You didn't think Jauffre would appoint the task of delivering the heir to the _Empire_ solely to you, did you?" His unfriendly mockery ignites a flash of anger inside me. "I was sent to ensure you completed the task."

_I knew it_! Although I was unaware of anyone following, I had suspected some kind of test behind the request. _So much for giving me a chance, eh, Jauffre_?

"Unfortunately," continues the red-skinned Blade. "I was too late to stop you entering that Oblivion Gate, otherwise I would have prevented you from doing something so foolish."

"I didn't do it on purpose," I protest, my head bowed to stare at the floor. It only annoys me to look at his face.

"Well, whatever happened, you were quite a mess when you left it. Your back was alight and you were clutching a black stone in your hand like your life depended on it. Luckily for you, I was able to get you to Brother Martin in time."

That name has my head whip up, almost causing whiplash. "Did you say Martin?"

Baurus nods.

"Was he the one talking to me just now?"

Another nod, with a little confusion added this time. I look over to the people beside me, but the healer isn't there anymore. My heartbeat quickens and I scan the chapel's crowd furiously to find him.

"What is it?" Baurus asks, his gaze following mine now.

"It's him, the heir. Brother Martin is the heir," I say, dropping the plate carelessly to the floor beside me. In my haste to stand, a wave of giddiness makes me stumble and fall back down. Baurus, of course, offers no assistance as I try again. This time I hold an arm out to use the chapel wall for support, my eyes scanning the crowd for Martin once again. I see him by one of the large entrance doors speaking to a small group of survivors and stagger forwards to reach him. With a sigh, Baurus comes to my side, placing a hand on my arm to halt my progress.

"Wait here," he commands. "I shall speak to him."

He is gone before I can protest, leaving me no choice but to wait. Watching the scene avidly, I see Baurus initiate conversation with the priest. I grow impatient as they talk, wishing I could see their faces properly to gauge how the conversation is going. Eventually Brother Martin turns away from Baurus and heads towards me. When his face is close enough for me to study his features properly, that familiarity I felt before turns into comprehension and as his uncanny resemblance to the late Emperor dawns on me, I wonder at not seeing it before. Age him thirty years and I would swear I was back in the Imperial Prison, speaking to Uriel Septim himself. There is more anger in Martin's features though as he approaches.

"Is this true?" he demands.

Taken aback by memories of my brief encounter with this man's real father, it takes some time for me to register the question.

"Y-yes," I confirm, wary of his fury.

"But that is impossible," he exclaims. "My father was a farmer and I am just a lowly priest. This cannot be right!" He sinks into one of the pews nearby, looking in my direction, but registering nothing.

Countless emotions flit across his face and I awkwardly lower myself to sit beside him, trying to ignore the aches and pains that accompany the effort. After a while his eyes meet mine.

"I don't suppose," he asks with a wry smile. "There could be _another_ Brother Martin residing in Kvatch that you are confusing me with?"

I shake my head. "Too much of a coincidence, I'm afraid," I say, my heart swelling with pity. I cannot imagine how it would feel to receive such a revelation. Although, given my lack of a past, perhaps it would be a relief for me to finally know where I come from. Considering of some of the bizarre moments I've encountered in the last couple of weeks, however, perhaps I am better off not knowing.

"We cannot linger here much longer," says Baurus as he joins us. "We must make haste to Weynon Priory."

Martin looks up at him. "Before I can go anywhere, I need to tend to the sick and ensure the other survivors are safe."

"My...um...Your Highness," Baurus seems a little uneasy for a moment and I try hide my amusement. "With all due respect, we _need_ to get moving. She-" He jerks a thumb in my direction. "May have closed _that_ gate, but more will open unless we get you away from here."

"Me? What has that gate got to do with me?"

"They came for you," I answer for Baurus. "Those Daedra must also know who you are and I'm sure it will take more than the closure of one of their portals to stop them."

"But I can't just abandon these people here!" the priest cries, a hint of desperation in his voice. It is plain he doesn't want this new responsibility thrust upon him. I cannot blame him.

"Trust me," interjects Baurus. "The best thing you can do for them is leave."

Martin releases a huge sigh, burying his face in his hands. I rise from my seat and stand by the Blade.

"Perhaps we should give him a moment," I suggest in a whisper.

"We don't have time," is his impatient reply.

"The man has just found out his entire past is a sham, is the heir to an empire and Daedra have attacked an entire city because of him. We owe him a moment or two to think at the very least."

Baurus reluctantly agrees and we move a little way from Martin as he processes this life-altering information we have delivered. It is nearly fifteen minutes later when the heir finally rises from the pew and walks over to us.

"All right," he lets out a breath to brace himself. "I will go with you. However, I must say my farewells."

I look to Baurus and he nods his agreement. The sorrow following the news of Brother Martin's departure is ample testimony of the love these people have for him. Another wave of pity washes over me, but there are other things for me to worry about.

"What happens to me now?" I ask my '_guardian_'. Incomprehension clouds Baurus' face.

"Now that the heir is found," I elaborate. "What happens to me? Do I go with you to the priory or make my own way in the world?"

"Jauffre instructed me to return you to the Priory." He fixes me with an icy expression. "Until we know what to do with you."

His ominous words make my blood chill and I hastily unlock myself from his mistrustful glare. When Martin has finally concluded his goodbyes, he grabs a large satchel resting by the chapel's altar before standing by us.

"Lead on," he commands.

**000**

This is my second journey to Chorrol with Baurus, but the presence of a third party member eases the discomfort somewhat. Much of the journey is spent in silence, but as we near Weynon priory Martin approaches me.

"It has occurred to me," he comments as he hikes beside me. "That you saved the lives of everyone in Kvatch and I have yet to know your name."

I take a deep breath before answering. "Linny," is my eventual reply.

"Well, Linny, it cannot even begin to convey the gratitude I feel for what you did, but I want to say thank you."

I accept his thanks with an awkward nod and we spend the rest of the day's journey in silence. I am not oblivious to Baurus' ear wigging in on our conversation, either. It is not until later that night that he confronts me.

"Recovered some of our memory, have we?"

I hadn't heard him approach and the sudden sound of his voice makes me jump. I spin to face him, a precarious tone all too evident in his words.

"That name you've given yourself-what is it?"

His prolonged silence makes me realise he is waiting for an answer.

"Linny," I reply, begrudgingly.

"It is very much like the word that assassin in the prison said to you."

"What of it, _Baurus_?" I snap, my loathing of this man coating his name with acid as it leaves my mouth.

"I am just wondering why you would pick that as a name."

"I don't know! Martin asked for a name, I have no idea what it is and that was the first thing that came to mind."

Baurus eyes me for some time before stepping towards me until his face is barely inches from mine.

"Mark my words, _Linny_." His distrustful eyes bore into mine and, for the first time, I am afraid of him. "I will learn the truth about you."

I glare at his retreating form, trying to contain the trembling threatening to overwhelm my limbs as tears well in my eyes. '_Not if I do first' _I promise myself.

**000**

The clash of metal greets our ears as we arrive at Weynon Priory. In the blink of an eye, Baurus has unsheathed his sword and to my right I see Martin has followed suit, albeit his weapon is smaller than the Blade's. Baurus refused to return my weapon to me in Kvatch, so I am left completely unarmed. This terrifies me as I see a man with skin the colour of night race towards us, a couple of assassins hot on his heels.

"Help! You must help! They're killing everyone at Wey-" His words are cut short by a blade through the neck, a wet gurgling interrupted by the distorted howls of his executioner.

Baurus immediately heads for the assassin. Martin, noting my lack of weapon, pushes me behind him as he raises his own defensively. His palm shoots out at the foe barrelling towards him and bolts of what look like white fire shoot from his fingertips. The enemy plummets to the floor and, with a deft swipe, Martin decapitates it. Both bodies revert to a red-robed human form, just as they did in the prison. Trepidation weaves up and down my spine as Baurus scopes for more enemies. When positive the way is safe, he signals us forward with a wave of his hand.

A dark shape lying on the steps leading to the priory's entrance catches my eye and I walk over to it, immediately regretting doing so when I see a large pool of dark burgundy liquid oozing from it. I instantly spin away from the sight, pre-empting my bloodlust as I know I need to keep any strange behaviour from Baurus. I call out for the other two. The Blade crouches down to observe the body and I slowly step away from the scene.

"It is Prior Maborel," he confirms, a tinge of regret in his voice. He doesn't need to tell us Maborel is dead.

A shout and more clashes of blades has the heads of all three of us whip in the direction of the small chapel beside the Priory. Baurus and Martin go first, with me closely following. Inside we find Jauffre fending off the attacks of two more assassins, the bloodied body of another monk bent awkwardly over the back of one of the pews. Age obviously hasn't made Jauffre any less adept with a sword as he ends the life of one assassin, its companion soon following after coming into contact with Baurus' weapon. Martin has positioned me behind him once again and this protectiveness seems to be a strong personality trait of his.

"Oh, thank Talos you've returned!" the elderly monk exclaims.

"What happened?" Baurus asks, relief flooding his features to see the master of his order safe.

"We had no warning," Jauffre explains as he wipes sweat from his brow. "I was praying in here when I heard Priory Maborel's shouts. I was lucky I could get armed in time." Sheer panic suddenly floods his creased features. "The Amulet! That must have been what they wanted. It was in a secret room in the Priory. I can only pray it is safe." He sprints out of the chapel doors.

The atmosphere is thick with anger and distress as I enter the hidden room, leading off from the library in which I received my task of retrieving Martin.

"They've taken it! The Amulet of Kings is gone! The enemy has defeated us at every turn!" His words are unnecessary after seeing the thundery expression on his face. When Baurus brings Martin forward, Jauffre's hopes seem marginally raised. "Then all is not lost." He bows his head and the younger priest's countenance screams his discomfort.

"What do we do now?" asks Baurus.

"Well, Martin's safety is our number one priority," answers Jauffre. "This atrocious attack means Weynon Priory is no longer safe. We have to get him somewhere to regroup and plan our next move."

"But where in Tamriel _is_ safe? I mean how did the enemy even know of the Amulet's whereabouts in the first place?" Baurus' eyes flicker to me before returning to his master.

"The enemy has many spies," Jauffre concedes and this comment has Baurus eyeing me once again. "And nowhere is truly safe, but some places are more..._secure_ than others. The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma, is one such place. A few men can hold it against an army. We must travel to Cloud Ruler Temple."


	5. Sponsor'

**A/N:**** Thanks, as usual, go to Frenetic-Kinetic for her beta-ness**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, wish I did, blah blah blaaaahhhhhhhhhh**

* * *

Cloud Ruler Temple: the magnificent construction of stone and wood decorating the mountainous landscape northwest of Bruma. Icy flakes of white danced in the wind, my body warmth melting them as they brushed my skin. The cold pierced through my clothing that was so inadequate for the wintry weather, it was laughable. I clasped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my chattering teeth as Martin was introduced to the Blades by their Grandmaster. The sentinels bowed before their new ward with a chorus of "Your Majesty", the heir's discomfiture evident in his face despite his attempt to hide it. When cries went up for a speech, his expression turned to one of mild horror and he looked to me for support. What help he thought I could offer was beyond me, so I simply shrugged and nodded encouragingly.

As the only other non-Blade present, Martin seemed to view me as an ally of sorts. I wondered what Baurus and Jauffre would make of that. The speech, such as it was, seemed a little short, but served its purpose as everyone cheered and applauded at its conclusion. The Blades were dismissed and Martin turned to me then, seemingly for approval. I smiled weakly in return, hoping my face didn't betray the pain the freezing temperature was inflicting on my trembling body. It did. No amount of royal blood could eradicate the protective healer within as he ushered me towards the warmth awaiting us inside.

That was almost a month ago. I am currently knelt on all fours, scrubbing the grubby floor for all its worth, beneath one of the large wooden tables arranged in rows in the Temple's Great Hall. Everyone else is (or should be) asleep, save for those on night watch duty outside. It has been my great pleasure to be the recipient of such endless menial tasks as this since my arrival and I have to admit I expected a little more gratitude for my role in delivering the heir than this. However, I suppose I should be thankful that Jauffre has let me stay so long. Immediately upon first entering through the large wooden doors, Baurus had taken the Grandmaster to one side, the frequent glances in my direction making the topic of conversation more than apparent. Surprisingly, no offer of a place amongst the Blades has been made, yet Jauffre must have some sort of plan for me, as I am receiving weapons training from a couple of the soldiers here-Pelagius and Fortis. Although vastly improved, my swordsmanship still leaves much to be desired. This doesn't bother me; renown for my skill with a blade is not something I hanker for. I have, however, discovered an aptitude for archery. In fact, Fortis is amazed at how quickly I've picked it up. My ego swells a little with the pride of actually being good at something for a change.

_SLAM!_

My head jerks upwards in surprise, colliding with the table above me. An unbidden curse escapes my lips and is received with a chuckle. I crawl out from under the table to see Martin Septim stood before me, a crooked smirk decorating his features.

"Forgive me," he says. "It was too good an opportunity to waste."

I throw a scowl at him as I get to my feet.

"Jauffre has you hard at work, I see," he continues as he sits himself at the table. "I doubt these floors have ever been so clean. They say there is no rest for the wicked, so I wonder what great crime you committed to deserve such punishment."

"Me too," I mumble, massaging the back of my head. The words are false as recent developments have made the idea of knowing more about my history unpleasant. I bend to retrieve the handle of the bucket of soapy water, getting a peek at the title of the tome responsible for my dull headache as I straighten. _Modern Heretics_. "Isn't it a little late for reading?"

Martin opens the cover of the book before his gaze returns to me. "Isn't it a little late for cleaning?" he counters, studying me for a minute or two. "What time were you awake this morning? In the past few weeks, I swear you cannot have had more than a couple of hours' sleep a night."

His estimate is probably not that far off the mark; between the training and never-ending chores, it certainly feels that way for my weary body. I wouldn't begrudge my exhaustion so much if I felt I was serving a _purpose_, as opposed to being the temple's errand girl. Alas, it seems I am only fit to _rescue_ the Emperor, not _serve_. A little of the bitterness must show on my face as I heave the heavy bucket off the ground, ready to give the floor beneath the next table a good scrubbing, because Martin steals the receptacle from my grasp before replacing it on the floor. He motions for me to sit beside him. I chew the inside of my cheek nervously in wonder as I follow his request.

"Linny, how long have you been here?" he asks.

"About a month, I think."

Martin nods. "And in that time has Jauffre given any hint of making you a Blade?"

I shake my head slowly, unsure of where this conversation will go.

"Would you like to be?"

I shrug my shoulders hesitantly. "I-I don't know. It would certainly be an improvement on cleaning floors and mucking out stables." The light, playful tone fails to reach my words. Why is he asking me this?

"You see, I am at a loss as to why Jauffre would keep you here if he does not intend to recruit you."

My heart sinks and a bubble of panic rises in my throat, adding a slight shake to my voice. "You-you want me to leave?"

"Heavens, no!" Martin assures me, his eyes widening in surprise at such a thought. "It just frustrates and confuses me to see someone close an Oblivion Gate, thereby saving an entire city, not to mention the heir to the throne, and be rewarded with tasks usually reserved for servants. He does not seem to trust you enough to enlist you, yet has not turned you away either. Does this not puzzle you?"

In all honesty, I have not given it much thought. Well, alright, maybe I have, but I assumed _something_ would happen sooner or later, otherwise why give me the training? Unless it is a distraction technique. The more I consider that option, the more despondent I feel.

"Listen," the priest says, his voice conspiratorially low. "How would you like to be given an assignment?"

I do not answer right away. I watch his face for a while, trying to decipher his intentions.

"From what I can gather," he elaborates. "One of the Blades is having a little difficulty with the task Jauffre gave him. I imagine he could use some help."

"You're not seriously suggesting me, are you? Jauffre would never-"

"Jauffre doesn't need to know. Consider it an exercise to gain some experience." A mischievous glint sparkles in Martin's blue eyes. "And I am quite sure we shall all endure washing our own undergarments until you return."

A laugh vocalises my incredulity at his proposal. Can he authorise such a thing? I dare not imagine the look on Jauffre's face if he found out-it would be quite a picture.

"Can you _do_ that?" I ask.

"Wash my own undergarments? Of course! I am a priest, not an invalid."

"No." More laughter escapes my lips. "I mean send me to aid a Blade, do you have-"

"Linny," Martin interrupts me, his tone one of exaggerated patience. "I am the Emperor, or soon will be if the gods favour us. There isn't a whole lot Jauffre can do about it."

"What is this assignment I am helping?"

"Information gathering, I believe, on those responsible for all this. There is one problem, however."

"Which is?" Trepidation creeps up my spine.

"You will be working with Baurus."

Oh. It would have to be, wouldn't it? You can't get something for nothing, so they say.

"Martin," I begin, thinking this may not be such a good idea after all. "He and I-"

"I know your relationship is..." He seems to have difficulty finding the right word. "..._tempestuous_, at best, that was made obvious at Kvatch. But would you really rather stay here, cleaning for the rest of your life or until they decide what to do with you; whichever comes first?"

I don't have to think very hard for the answer to that question.

"No, I wouldn't," I confirm.

"Very well," says the heir with satisfaction. "Meet me by the stables in an hour."

"But where am I going? What will I need?"

"Do not worry about that-I shall take care of provisions and give you all the information you require later. Now go, I believe there is some laundry in desperate need of your attention."

Departing with one last scowl, I head for the temple's West wing to mull over this incredible new development.

Armed an hour later with warm clothes, a sack of food, some coins and a sheathed sword at my side, I head for the Imperial City. How Martin managed to get everything I need in such a short space of time shall forever be a mystery, but knowing that at least _someone _is willing to place a little trust in me lifts my mood. The journey is almost a week long and the last night of it is spent sleeping amongst bushes-my funds were depleted on inns for the previous nights. The bridge leading towards the city is long and holds a sturdy magnificence, alluding to the grandeur waiting within the large gates.

My eyes immediately fall on the gigantic dragon statue before me and my jaw drops in awe. To live surrounded by such splendour must surely be a joy for the city's inhabitants; I can imagine myself spending hours each day studying the architecture. Once I realise I have spent the past several minutes gaping at the environment like a fool, I gather my wits with a brisk shake of my head. I must focus on the task at hand. Martin told me Baurus is staying at an inn called Luther Broad's Boarding House. I have absolutely no idea where that is. I look around for someone to help and see a guard stationed by a smaller gate to my far left.

"Excuse me," I ask as I near the tall, armoured man.

"How can I help, citizen?"

"I am looking for Luther Broad's inn."

"It is located in the Elven Garden's District," the guard replies with a warm smile. "Which is just through these gates." He steps aside to grant me access and I thank him with a warm smile of my own. If only the hospitality at Cloud Ruler Temple were as gracious.

The beauty of the city's first district continues through this one. I swear to myself that if I live through this Oblivion crisis, I shall buy a house here. Despite the numerous people milling about, there is a peaceful atmosphere. I stroll along the sunlit cobbled streets, searching for a sign to the inn where Baurus should be. Eventually I spot it and hurry to the door. My stomach knots in preparation and I reach a hand out to the door's handle, when a voice halts my actions.

"What are you doing here?"

I turn to see the very man I am looking for staring at me in utter confusion, with a little contempt thrown in for good measure. My stomach lurches, but I manage to keep my features steady.

"I-I was sent to help you," I reply, the intensity of his amber eyes making it hard to keep eye contact.

"Gods," he exclaims exasperatedly. "Had I known Jauffre would send _you,_ I would have kept quiet." I keep the matter of Jauffre having nothing to do with my presence here quiet. As is a beloved pastime of his, the Blade eyes me suspiciously for a moment. "Why _did_ he send you?"

"As you're having some troubles, I suppose he thought two pairs of eyes and ears are better than one." I shrug, praying my lies can withstand his baleful glare. If Baurus believes I am here under Jauffre's orders, it will hopefully mean he is compelled to accept my help.

"Very well," Baurus relents after mutterings of his Grandmaster's stubbornness. "Let's get inside so I can bring you up to date with my progress."

I turn towards the inn's wooden door, but before I can open it, Baurus (to my utter disbelief) grabs me for a hug. My arms hang limply at my sides, my entire body immobilised by shock.

"I am being followed," Baurus informs me in a low voice so alarmingly close to my ear that his breath tickles the hair on my neck. "So try to at least _look_ like you are enjoying this embrace."

I immediately wrap my arms around his waist to reciprocate this false token of friendship and he continues to speak. "I'm not sure exactly who he is or what he wants," says the Blade. "But we must keep a close eye on him."

Baurus ends the hug and motions for me to lead the way. I try once again to open the door, a heady scent of ale rewarding my success. The mixture of candlelight and dim rays of sunlight streaming through the windows gives the inn's interior a gentle luminescence. The warm weather outside means a fireplace at the back of the inn is unlit and my companion and I sit at two of the stools positioned in front of the bar. Within minutes, a young man enters, taking a seat a few tables behind us. I wonder if he is the one Baurus spoke of, but resist the urge to get a better look in case it is. An ageing man with an amiable countenance asks what drinks we would like.

"The usual for me, Luther, and a small glass of wine for her."

Baurus leans towards me, a phony smile spreading across his lips. "That's him, behind us," he murmurs, confirming my suspicions. "I'm going to get up in a few minutes and I suspect he will follow. If he does, you follow him. Understood?"

I nod in reply. Our drinks soon arrive and I study the red liquid in my glass before taking a hesitant sip. It is a little too bitter for my taste, but my associate has no trouble glugging his drink down in one. He returns his jug to the counter with a satisfied thud before getting to his feet, informing me he shall return shortly. Sure enough, his 'admirer' soon follows suit. I rise and pursue them both, wondering where they could have gone.

As I round the corner of the bar, I hear the creak of a closing door ahead and lunge towards it before it shuts. Aiming to be as quiet as possible, I slowly unsheathe the sword provided by Martin; there is no telling what this man is planning. I descend the stairs cautiously, listening for any signs of conflict.

My foot reaches the last step when raised voices and the clash of metal freeze my actions. I press my back to the wall and poke my head around the corner to see Baurus fending off the attacks of his assailant, who has him pinned with a blade mere inches from his throat. However, the assailant's garb is radically changed from only a few moments ago. He is now cloaked in scarlet-just like the assassins who attacked the Emperor. I don't have long to assess the situation. They are only a few feet away and the aggressor's back is facing me. If I am quiet, I can strike him before he sees me, but it is risky. The second he discovers my presence, Baurus will be dead. They are conversing now and I creep forward, hoping desperately that my plan works. As soon as I am close enough, I raise my sword, gripping the guard, and smack the pommel against the back of Baurus' opponent's head. The assassin crumples to the floor, giving me a much better view of his face. He is older than I first assumed, with grey lightly sprinkling his dark hair. I am about to ask Baurus why he thinks this man was after him, when I notice the Blade eyeing me with a peculiar expression on his face.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," Baurus eventually replies, breathlessly. His face resumes its customary severity as he crouches to search the brunette. He pulls out a book from the inside pocket of the man's jacket and his eyes widen.

"By the Nine!"

"What is it?" His tone worries me.

"Well, I think we now know who is behind all this," he remarks, holding the book out to me.

I take it, reading the words emblazoned on the front. _Mythic Dawn Commentaries 1_. I look to Baurus for enlightenment.

"The Mythic Dawn is a group of Daedric cultists lead by Mankar Camoran." The distaste in his words is plain. "They worship Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric prince of destruction. Other than that, my knowledge of them is very limited." He looms over the assassin, sword raised.

"Wait," I beg. "You're going to kill him? There's so much he could tell us."

"This piece of filth won't tell us anything we don't already know, Linny," Baurus elucidates, patiently. "If he lives, we'll have more cultists on our tails than we'll know what to do with."

Before I can protest further, he pierces the Acolyte's chest with his sword and I spin away. Baurus will assume it is squeamishness that averts my gaze, not the bloodlust I have to fight so hard to suppress.

Back upstairs, we resume our places at the bar for another drink as Baurus explains our next move. I am to see someone called Tar-Meena, who has extensive knowledge of Daedric cults, to find out all I can about the Mythic Dawn. After a while, Baurus becomes oddly quiet. I, too, stay silent, not wishing to pry and drink some more of my wine, enjoying it now that my taste buds have grown accustomed to the flavour. Whatever is occupying Baurus' thoughts, he is evidently not sharing with me. With a last swig of beer, he arranges to meet me back here this evening after I have seen Tar-Meena and leaves the inn.

**000**

I have never seen an Argonian before, or, at least, not that I can remember, but they are _fascinating_ to look at. They are tall and their smooth skin is speckled with assorted shades of brown, green and gold, their eyes a piercing blood-red. I am, of course, assuming that all Argonians look the same as Tar-Meena. I hope so; she is beautiful in her own way. Once I have managed to overcome my awe at her appearance, I question her about the Mythic Dawn cult. Baurus was right-her knowledge on them is infinite and I try my best to sift through all the information in order to save the most important parts for him. I show her the book retrieved from the body of the assassin.

"Ah yes. 'Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes'-wonderful!" Her voice is deep and husky; I could listen to it for hours. "You have a scholarly interest in Daedric cults, then? I won't poke my nose any further. Official business and all that. I'm used to working with the Blades, don't worry."

I do not bother correcting her mistake. She doesn't need to know I am not a Blade. Although locating the cult has not been mentioned by Baurus, I decide to take the initiative for my next question.

"Finding them won't be easy," she replies. "I've studied Mankar Camoran's writings a bit myself-at least those that I could find. It is clear from the text that his 'Commentaries' come in four volumes, but I've only ever seen the first two books. I believe that his writings contain hidden clues to the location of the Mythic Dawn's secret shrine to Mehrunes Dagon. Those who unlock this hidden path have proven themselves worthy to join the ranks of the Mythic Dawn cult. Finding the shrine is the first test. If you want to find them, you'll need all four volumes of the 'Commentaries'."

I ask where I might find these books. She disappears to another room, before eventually returning with a book in her hands. "Here, you can have the library's copy of Volume 2."

I receive it gratefully and, before I know it, almost another hour has gone by as she tells me even more about the cult-in particular, about Mankar Camoran. I leave the Arcane University knowing everything I will ever need to about the Mythic Dawn-probably more than the members themselves. Baurus is sat at a table in Luther Broad's as promised when I return that evening. I hand him the second 'Commentaries' book and relay the information Tar-Meena provided, albeit in a much more condensed version.

"I suppose we should pay this 'Phintias' a visit in the morning."

I nod in agreement, hoping that the proprietor of First Edition really will be able to help us locate the last two editions of the 'Commentaries'.

"I'm sorry," is the reply from the copper-skinned Phintias. "I have reserved it for another customer and they've already paid for it."

Baurus attempts to coerce a deal with the bookseller, but this is one man even a Blade cannot intimidate.

"Look," he continues. "The customer, Gwinas, will be here soon to collect it. If you want it that badly, you can speak with him."

Baurus gives Phintias half-hearted thanks and pulls me over to a corner of the shop. His frustration is radiating off him like heat from an open fire. I suggest he may be too worked up to speak to this Gwinas and offer to do so instead. If we hope to bargain with this customer, I would rather save intimidation as a last resort.

Gwinas is a short, stocky and finely dressed man. I approach him as he is leaving the bookshop and immediately wish I had let Baurus deal with him. His arrogance is unbearable and he clearly has no idea what the Mythic Dawn really is. In the end, it takes one look at Baurus' thunderous expression and my blunt explanation that they were responsible for the Emperor's death for the pointy-eared man to yield. The morning turns out to be a fruitful one as, not only do we get the third volume, but also a chance to obtain the fourth book and infiltrate the cult.

"The Sunken Sewers," says Baurus thoughtfully, as he reads the note Gwinas provided. "I know that place." He moves to walk away before halting and facing me once again. "I don't know how dangerous this meeting could be. Ideally, I could use some backup, but I'm not sure you are ready for this yet."

"I did close an Oblivion gate, remember?" I remind him, knowing full well it is not my safety he is questioning, but my loyalties.

Baurus nods slowly. "Follow me," he replies.

Walking through the sewers brings back far too many uncomfortable memories for me, but I refrain from sharing them with my present company. I try to ignore the cold water seeping into my boots, giving up entirely when I have to wade through it at waist level. The goblins and rats we encounter pose little threat, as even I can dispatch them quickly. The mud crabs are the real buggers, as camouflaged in the murky green water as they are. We make it to the meeting room baring only a few cuts and bruises.

"Right, this is the place," the Blade informs me. "I will meet the sponsor; it'll be safer that way. Take the stairs there to a walkway. Nobody should be able to see you. I'll get the book and leave."

"But what if this 'sponsor' attacks you?" I ask, not liking his plan at all. "I won't be much good up there. Are there no other hiding spaces in the room?"

"I'm not sure, but it's safer for all of us if you remain hidden. If he sees you, things could get ugly. You've seen what they can do."

I shudder at the memories. However, I remain stubborn.

"I will not cower, Baurus!" I declare, meeting his eyes.

"Do as I ask, Linny," he commands-the icy glare that has been somewhat absent this past couple of days returns. "You are not the Blade here. I am, and if your aim is to help me, that means doing as you are told."

I scowl and he turns to enter the small door behind him. I immediately follow and he is about to reprimand me, when he hears the echoes of footsteps.

"Hide!" he hisses before hurrying to the table and chair ahead.

I crouch behind the wall, my presence hopefully obscured by the shadows. The metal gate to the right of the table and chair opens with a high-pitched scrape, announcing the entrance of the 'sponsor'. My hands fly to my mouth to smother the gasp I involuntarily emit. He is the image of the man that has haunted my more recent dreams. Tall and wiry, with golden brown hair slicked back from a golden-skinned face, I almost wish I was the one meeting him, if only to get a better view of his face. I listen intently to the conversation between he and Baurus.

"So, you wish to become one of the Chosen of Mehrunes Dagon." the golden man says, his voice smooth and clear. "The Path is difficult, but the rewards are great. I have the book you seek. With it and the Master's three other books, you will possess the key to enlightenment. But do you have the wit and strength to use the key you have been given? If so, I will see you next at Dagon's Shrine. Yes, I think you may..." He trails off, staring at Baurus. I curse the distance between them and I; what is going on? Suddenly the 'sponsor's' cry cuts through my eardrums. "I've seen you before! You're the Blade that Brother Astav was trailing! Brothers, kill this pretender."

I see two assassins come hurtling down the steps on my left, both clad in that grotesque Daedric armour. Baurus flies from his seat, weapon raised and I tear forwards to join his defence. I run at the 'sponsor', unsheathing my sword as I do so, but a blast of energy from him sends me to the ground with a thud. Pain shoots through my back, but I ignore it to scramble back to my feet. My opponent has made no move to attack; instead he is waiting with an unnerving smirk on his face. I rush at him once again, hoping to dodge his next assault, but fail and plummet to the ground face-first this time. A yank of my hair pulls me upright and I am pushed up against the wall, my left arm twisted painfully up against my back.

"It is good to see you again, Linny," the 'sponsor's' velvety voice breathes into my ear. "I pray you won't hold this against me."

White lights and blinding pain assault my brain as my head is slammed into the wall. Pitch black overwhelms me momentarily, and when I have regained consciousness, I see him stood over a bloodied, barely conscious Baurus, blade poised to strike the red-skinned man's heart.

"No!" I scream. Unconscious of my own actions, a bolt of electricity shoots from my palm, hitting the 'sponsor' square in the shoulder, sending he and his blade soaring into the air. The assassin not yet disposed of by Baurus lets out a snarl before racing towards me, my death written in his eyes. A cry of terror escapes the 'sponsor's' lips and he throws a fireball at my oncoming assailant, who crashes to the floor, howling in pain. Retrieving his dagger, he throws it at the fallen assassin. I crawl towards Baurus with no idea where my own weapon has landed. If I can get to him in time, maybe I can use his. The identity of this sponsor is one of many questions I haven't the time to dwell on, but, for some reason, he doesn't want to see me killed. A desperate plan forms in my mind.

"Sword?" I ask in a hurried whisper. I pray the Blade is clever enough to have a secondary weapon, as his primary is nowhere to be seen. A weak tap alerts me to the small scabbard on his right side. I pull the dagger from it and wheel to face the golden man stumbling towards me. He halts when he sees the weapon.

"You'll have to go through me to kill him," I proclaim, my features set in grim determination.

The 'sponsor' watches me for a while, obviously assessing the situation.

"It seems all is going according to plan." These are his final words before plunging the dagger into his chest.

* * *

**A/N:**** Okay, I'm no longer above begging. PLEEEEAAAAAAAAAAASSSSEEE give me some reviews :D**


	6. Mankar

**A/N:**** Thanks, as usual, to the loverly Frenetic-Kinetic for her beta reading. Enjoy! P.S don't own it and all that jazz...**

* * *

Involuntary trembling seizes control of my body as my surprisingly lucid mind analyses the preceding moments. So much has happened in such a short space of time, and so quickly too, that it feels as though days, rather than minutes, have passed. Filtering through the events has made one thing abundantly clear: the answers to my past lie with the Mythic Dawn. With the fourth book now in our possession, Baurus and I can finally locate their whereabouts. Thoughts of my wounded comrade have me looking over my shoulder at him. Can I call him a comrade now? I see no reason why not. After all, I have just saved his life and if that doesn't qualify, what does?

A misty blue glow encircles him as he heals himself, righting his body into a sitting position. That restoration spell is something I need to learn. My observation is soon noted by the Blade and his healing is interrupted when our gazes meet, his features arranged in the oddest expression. My cheeks flush and I quickly turn away, wondering what the look meant.

It isn't until I hear the sound of movement behind me that my eyes return to Baurus, seeing him get to his feet. I follow suit, wincing as I have no healing spells to aid my own recovery. The heavy silence hanging between us is deafening in the dark sewers, the awkwardness covering us like a thick blanket. For the first time I am desperate to know his thoughts, but cannot bring myself to glance at his face, fearing that look will still be painted on it.

"We will need to check the body for the book." The contrast between his loud voice and the oppressive quiet of our surroundings jars against my eardrums.

I nod in agreement and he walks to the still form of the 'sponsor'. I refuse to look at the Acolyte, his disturbing words still echoing in my brain. _"It seems all is going according to plan."_ What did that mean? Only the Mythic Dawn could answer that, as well as the endless other questions I have.

The sudden close proximity of Baurus halts my train of thought. The thick tome is in his hands, with the words 'Mythic Dawn Commentaries 4' decorating the cover. I nod once more, the ability of speech evading me for the moment.

With a sigh, the Blade speaks once again. "Now that we have all four volumes, we will need to see Tar-Meena once again. Hopefully she will know where to start with them."

With another nod from me we set off for the Arcane University.

The bright sunshine of the morning has been replaced by grey clouds and drizzle. Our hair and clothing are coated in a fine layer of raindrops that shimmer in the light as we walk to the University. I reach out to push open the entrance door, but Baurus stops me. I turn to face him and immediately regret doing so when I see the expression his features carry once again. I lower my gaze and wait for him to speak, but no words come; he just continues to stare. Why is he _looking_ at me that way? Throat-clearing from behind alerts us to the fact we are blocking the entrance to the building. I mumble an apology as we step out of the elderly man's way. Baurus follows him inside, thwarting my plan to discover the origins of the Blade's odd mood.

It seems the Argonian has been waiting for us. Her scarlet eyes light up when we place the four books on a table before her and excitement drips off every word as she examines the fourth volume.

"I cannot believe you managed to get it-I shan't ask how."

"We hoped," pushes Baurus. "You could give us a clue as to how we can find the Mythic Dawn."

"Well," replies Tar-Meena, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I shall need some time to study them-the last two volumes especially as I have never read them before. I will do what I can tonight and report any findings to you tomorrow."

We thank her before leaving. The drizzle has turned to proper rain now and I wrap my coat tighter around myself to keep out the wet. The rest of the day lies ahead and the idea of spending it in present company-should said company even welcome such a notion-does not appeal, but, with no money, what am I to do instead? Another drawn out silence is broken by Baurus.

"I assume you'll need gold for another night at the inn?"

I nod, my gaze lowered to the ground in embarrassment. With an unintelligible grumble, he walks away. I watch his retreating form in bafflement. Should I follow? Was that grunt acceptance or refusal to pay for my room for another night? Dejection looms over me like a thunder cloud when I ponder the prospect of spending the night sleeping in the rain. Several feet ahead, Baurus stops and turns.

"Are you coming?"

He needn't ask twice.

**000**

"I cracked it!" declares the sorceress, sleep-deprivation heightening the enthusiastic hysteria radiating from her. "I was up _all_ night with those books, but I finally cracked the code less than an hour ago."

I am itching to find out, but hesitant to get too close to her gesticulating limbs, so stand behind Baurus as she explains.

"The clue is in the first word of each paragraph, or first letter of the first word, I should say. Put them together and you get this." Tar-Meena hands a scrap of parchment to Baurus and I step closer to peer round his shoulder, reading the hastily-scrawled handwriting.

_Green Emperor Way Where Tower Reaches Midday Sun._

I don't feel any more enlightened, but the words seem to mean something to Baurus as he nods in comprehension. My curiosity overcomes the desire for an intelligent appearance as I enquire as to the words' meanings.

"Green Emperor Way is in the Central District of the city, where the Imperial Palace is located," clarifies Tar-Meena. "If you take the words by their literal meaning, there is obviously something that happens there at Midday."

Blatancy allows embarrassment to elbow curiosity out of the way. Well, I never did proclaim myself a genius. Baurus and I both thank the Argonian sorcerer for her help, allowing her to keep all four volumes of the Commentaries as a token of our appreciation.

Although once again grey, the air is dry and we stand by the entrance door for a moment to work out our next move. My heartbeat speeds up at the prospect of being so close to finding the Mythic Dawn. I take several steps before realizing my companion is not following. I spin to see him stood beside the university's entrance door; head bowed slightly, eyes refusing to meet mine.

"Linny?" he calls, quietly.

I retrace my steps to him. My heart is still beating rapidly, but no longer from excitement. Last night we had barely spoken a word to one another, sharing only one drink together at the bar of the inn before retiring to our separate rooms early. "Yes?" I ask, hesitance saturating the question.

"Yesterday...the sewers..." The words seem to have difficulty leaving his mouth. He takes a deep breath, expelling the oxygen through his nostrils before continuing. "It seems I may have been wrong about you. You saved my life and I want to thank you."

A deep blush colours my cheeks and I nod to accept his gratitude.

"Do we have time to reach Green Emperor Way before Midday?" I ask, desperate to end the awkward moment.

"We have roughly an hour or so to get there," he replies, equally hasty to change the subject.

When we reach our destination, the meaning of the code hidden in the Commentaries is once again lost on me. All I see are plants and graves; I cannot imagine them being much help. There is a large tomb on my left and, being the only edifice worthy of note in this area, I assume it must hold the answer. I step closer to study it, but see absolutely nothing. Unless a map magically materializes before our eyes, I cannot fathom what Midday can possibly bring to help.

My frustrated musings are interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Baurus gawping at the tomb and a chuckle of disbelief escapes my lips as, right in front of us, appears a glowing design of red on one of the panels. A map has indeed materialized before our very eyes. My russet-skinned companion moves closer to analyze the markings and returns with a satisfied grin on his face.

"We found them!"

He ushers me closer to the tomb and I see the design is actually a collection of runes, describing the whereabouts of the Mythic Dawn. An explanation is required as the place names mean nothing to me. My heart is beating so hard it could easily burst through my chest. We've found them, the people with all the answers I need. I can finally find out _who I am_. But will Baurus let me? I may have ascended a notch in his estimation after saving his life, but I am not naive enough to think he trusts me _that_ much just yet. Besides, I am pretty sure he didn't hear what that 'sponsor' had said to me in the sewers and I am not going to be the one to tell a man, already holding a vendetta against me, that I may actually have been working with his sworn enemies.

"We need to report this back to Jauffre, at once," says Baurus, already turning to leave.

I freeze. We can't leave; I need to know what my connection is to those people. If we return to Cloud Ruler Temple, I'll _never_ be allowed to leave after the stunt Martin pulled. Even if I was, I can't wait that long. I need my answers _now. _I am at a loss as to what I can do to stop Baurus, though. He is faster and stronger than me; I would never escape his clutches. Sheer panic plants an idea into my head so insanely stupid that, before I can think about the insanity of my actions, I pick up a large rock from the ground and swing for his head with all my might.

**000**

_He isn't dead, he isn't dead!_ I repeat the words again and again in my head, tears obscuring my vision as I race from the Imperial City. I have no idea whether that statement is true or not; in my panicked state I hadn't thought to check. It will do no good to dwell on the matter; I made my choice, now I must live with the consequences. Nausea swims through my stomach as I shake my head, forcing my mind to focus on the task at hand. Lake Arrius; that is my destination.

The journey is long and, starved and exhausted as I reach its end, the true impulsion of my plan becomes apparent. I arrive at the bottom of a small hill, the beauty of the surroundings paradoxical with the evil supposed to dwell here. I can just about make out a small door near the top and I wearily make my way up to it, real fear not hitting until I am facing the doorway. What will I find inside? Best not to ponder such things. I raise my arm and knock on the wooden door. No answer. Am I in the right place? I knock again with the same outcome and doubt trickles into my mind. Perhaps I got the directions confused. After much dithering, I gather all my bravery and open the door.

The sunlight spills into the dark tunnel, illuminating my path. I hesitate for a moment or two, wondering if this is such a good idea after all, but quickly shunt the doubt aside as I close the door behind me. I came this far; there is no going back now. I make my way cautiously down the tunnel, my sight focused on the amber glow at the end. The tunnel leads to a large antechamber, with scarlet tapestries decorating the walls. Dim torchlight has shadows dancing over every surface. A man clad in crimson greets me.

"Dawn is breaking."

I have no idea how to respond, but am saved from doing so by the entrance of another crimson-clad figure.

"I will take it from here," the newcomer says as he steps forward. His eyes match the colour of his robes and seem to glow in contrast to his dark skin and hair. "It cannot be!" he proclaims, his blood-red eyes widening. The Acolyte takes several deep breaths, seeming to have difficulty containing his composure. With a few more steps, his face is only inches from mine and I try not to squirm beneath his scrutiny. "It _is _you!" The unadulterated joy on his face has me dumbfounded. He pulls me towards him and envelopes me in a tight embrace. "We thought you were dead."

Still, I cannot move and my arms hang limply at my sides. Noting the lack of reciprocation, the Warden pulls away slightly, brows furrowing.

"Linny?" he asks, eyes searching mine. "What is it?"

"I-I..." Words fail me as I look at this man who has welcomed me with such heart-warming affection. Of all the greetings I had expected, this was not one of them. So far, only Martin has attempted to equal this level of affability; everyone else has treated me with disparagement. Tears well in my eyes-whether from joy, fear or confusion I am unsure; maybe it is a mixture of all three. Seeing this, the Acolyte places a hand on either side of my face, but the contact makes me shrink away. Hurt mingles with the confusion on Harrow's face.

"Why do you recoil? It is I, Harrow; do you not recognise me?"

The tears roll down my cheeks as I shake my head.

"What happened to you?" he asks softly, his scarlet eyes brimming with concern.

"I don't know," I reply in a choked sob, the words barely intelligible through the emotion. Harrow pulls me against him once again and I bury my face in his chest, unable to keep back the sobs now. I have no idea where this sudden emotional outburst came from. Perhaps everything of the last couple of months has caught up with me and I need an outlet. He doesn't say a word; just holds me until my weeping subsides. His eyes study my face once again as he brushes the tears away with his thumbs. With a nod to his companion, the indigo man steers me towards a nearby door and opens it before ushering me through.

I sit myself down on a bench as he heads for an unlit torch secured to the wall. No sooner than the murmured words leave his lips does a small ball of flame erupt from the end of the torch. He sits beside me, covering my quivering hand with his own.

"Tell me what has happened," he says in a soft, soothing voice.

When I finally find my voice, I give Harrow an abridged account of the events following waking in the prison. I leave out the part about Martin. He must be fully aware of the heir's identity by now, but I'm not sure if he knows of my part in rescuing him yet, and, after seeing what they did to the last Emperor, I do not wish the same fate for the new one. Harrow listens intently, nodding occasionally. When I finish, there is a moment of silence before he responds.

"Well," he begins, motioning for us to sit at a bench nearby. "I do not know of the events that lead to your imprisonment, or how you acquired your amnesia, but I can tell you who you are."

_At last!_ I sigh, bracing myself for the answer to the question that has plagued me since waking in that damnable prison.

"Your name is Morlinna," Harrow explains. "And you are a member of the Mythic Dawn."

Although it confirms my suspicions, the knowledge is still a big shock, especially when I think of the things this cult has done. Images of Uriel Septim flash past my eyes. Did he deserve the savage bludgeoning he received in the prison? I cannot say; he did not seem the tyrannical type, although, having only known him for less than an hour, my judgement isn't the best on that subject.

Harrow continues. "You were, I believe, discovered as a child by Mankar Camoran himself and are something of an elite agent of his. In fact, you were instrumental in the success of taking Kvatch."

"What?" I gasp, spinning to face him as his words hit me like a sledgehammer. Kvatch? Images of the wounded crowd in the chapel race past my eyes-the man lying beside me, barely breathing, the elderly woman with the arm in a sling, the little girl, her missing hand forever a reminder of the horrifying events the townsfolk suffered. Oh Gods, I did that. All of them suffered because of me. How much blood is on my hands? My mind travels back to Menien Goneld's reaction to me, the venomous insults he had spat at me echoing through my brain and refusing to budge until I am nearly ready to scream. I jump up from the bench, my breathing becoming ragged as my brain tries to accept this news.

"Calm yourself, Linny." Harrow clasps my face between his hands again as he attempts to subdue my panic. "This must be quite a shock for you, but do not distress yourself. We will help you. The Master is holding a rare audience with the Order right now. Come; perhaps he may take the time to speak with you."

Clad in the scarlet uniform worn by all around me, I make my way to the Dagon Shrine with Harrow as my guide. There are many acolytes already gathered at the bottom of a platform where a man stands, his arms gesticulating passionately as he speaks. Harrow warns me to keep silent, with a raised finger to his lips. As we get closer, I can make out what the speaker is saying.

"Praise be! The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings."

I look at the jewel sparkling at the speaker's throat and recognise it immediately. "Praise be to your brothers and sisters. Great shall be their reward in Paradise! Hear now the words of Lord Dagon: 'when I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other mortals forever'." Tall and proud, with gleaming golden skin and swept-back graying hair, the speaker has a presence that is mesmerizing. A feeling of familiarity tickles the back of my mind, but all thought is immobilized when his eyes-those of a man impossible to forget-lock with mine.

**000**

_A death dance-it was truly beautiful to watch; _she_ was beautiful to watch. Never had any warrior wielded a sword with such sadistic poise; she really was his angel of destruction. The Altmer studied her every movement as she practised, unaware of her audience. She circled her opponent-in this case, a battered mannequin-with the languid grace of a cat, her sharp, emerald eyes never leaving her adversary. In the blink of an eye, she lunged at it, lobbing its head clean off with one swing. _

_With his pupil temporarily distracted, the golden-skinned elf left his post at the entrance to silently enter the chamber. With a flourish of his hand, he prepared a fireball and she span to face him just as it was launched. Her reflexes were lightning fast as she leant back, almost bending in two to narrowly avoid the fireball. The gust of wind left in its wake caused her tunic to ride up and the Altmer got a glimpse of the woman his student had become. He grabbed one of the training swords from the rack to his right and it met hers with a loud, metallic clang. To any onlooker this practice duel could have easily been mistaken for a real fight to the death, each one aiming for the other with such ferocity that-had it not been for their restoration spells-they would both bear injuries for the next several weeks. _

_Instructions relayed from master to pupil echoed throughout the chamber and the duel ended as quickly as it had begun, with the young woman's left arm being pinned behind her back, her weapon at the ground beside her. She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but her attempts were futile. Her master's own sword clattered to the ground and his free arm wrapped around her stomach, pulling her even closer to him. Both were breathing heavily from the exertion and his warm breath tickled her neck as he whispered in her ear._

"_You were good, Linny, but not quite good enough."_

"_When _will_ I be?" she asked, angry with herself for having disappointed him._

"_When I believe there is not a warrior on this earth who can defeat you."_

_She tried to focus on his words, but was distracted by the sensation of his lips gently brushing her earlobe as he spoke. The feelings his close proximity had started to arouse in her of late had her troubled. He was her mentor and anything diverting her attention was nothing but a hindrance. It didn't stop the feelings, though, and she dreamt of the day she wasn't the only one bothered by them. Twelve years she had been his apprentice; he had found her as a bud and groomed her into the deadly warrior he now held in his arms. She was his greatest achievement. Yet, she was also a grown woman and his eyes could captivate her like nothing else. The urges were counter-productive, she knew, but there had been so many times recently that she had wanted nothing more than for him to bury his face in her flaxen hair and capture her lips with his own._

_Lost in her reverie, it was a while before she felt the wetness beneath the palm that rested on her stomach. He pulled his hand away to reveal a large, red stain on her tunic and immediately lifted the garment to reveal a deep gash to the left of her navel. She gasped in surprise and was about to use a healing spell, but her master beat her to it. He covered the wound with his hand once again, a pale blue light filtering through the spaces between his fingers as he healed her. The back of her head rested against his shoulder and she closed her eyes to revel in the soothing sensation of the spell._

"_There," he announced softly._

_Linny turned her face to his and their gazes locked, mere inches apart. His skin glistened with sweat, making him look even more like a golden statue. He was just as fascinatingly beautiful now as when she had first laid eyes on him all those years ago. The fingers that had seemed so cool just seconds ago now felt feverishly hot as they rested on the smooth skin of her stomach. She wanted desperately to look away, knowing his eyes could read every thought of hers like a book, but was transfixed. Before either knew it, their lips crashed together in a hungry, passionate kiss. The arm that had been pinned behind her was freed and she buried her fist in his hair, pushing his face as close to hers as it could possibly get. His mouth was soft and sweet and he spun her body round to face his before pushing her up against the nearest wall. It hit her back with a force strong enough to wrench a gasp from her, temporarily parting their lips before they met once again. His hands began to explore her body beneath the tunic, eliciting a pleasurable moan from her as he massaged her breasts. His right hand teased her nipple as the left snaked teasingly slowly down her torso. Heat began to rise deep with Linny and more moans emitted from her between kisses. His forefinger tugged at the waistband of her breeches, ready to enter. She wanted this, wanted _him_. His hand slipped down as he sucked and nipped at the flesh of her neck, ready to satiate the impatient desire that burned through her entire body._

_Footsteps halted their actions and they hastily parted. A young man entered the chamber and it only took one glance at his face to know he was the son of the man Linny had just been fornicating with._

"_Yes, Raven?" the senior Altmer enquired, annoyance punctuating every word._

_The young elf seemed momentarily taken aback by his father's tone, but continued. "Everything is set, Master."_

"_Thank you," Linny's tutor turned to her. "We shall continue our lesson later."_

_The promise had Linny's heart beating wildly in her chest as she watched Mankar Camoran exit the chamber. _

**000**

I cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot do a damned thing but stand and stare. His eyes are still focused on me, an unreadable expression on his face. Nothing registers with my vision but those eyes-so piercing, so strong, cutting right through to my very soul. I _know_ him. He is the first tangible link to my past that fully registers with my memory; I cannot believe the name never rang a bell before now. I must speak with him. His intense orbs are still on me, but a small smile has replaced the former expression and, as he speaks, it feels as though nobody exists but he and I.

"Your reward, brothers and sisters: the time of cleansing draws nigh. I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!"

Camoran turns and lifts his arms, stretching them out wide, the air about him crackling with energy. An ellipse of light forms above his head, growing bigger as it emits a spectrum of colours. It is soon as wide as the stage he stands on and alarm shoots through me. Where is he going? I look at Harrow-whose presence beside me I forgot in my earlier reverie-but he is beguiled by the spectacle before him. I can't let Mankar Camoran leave; there is so much I must know! As he takes a step away from his audience towards the shimmering semi-circle of light, sheer desperation seizes me and I dash towards the stage with a cry. Camoran turns his head at the sound and, with an evocative smirk I swear-or hope-is aimed at me, he disappears and the shrine chamber is engulfed in shadow.

"No!" I breathe in despair.

"Brothers and Sisters, I have joyous news for you all," announces a beaming Harrow. "We have a guest. Some of you will know her, others will not, but I know you will all join me to welcome her back with open arms." He turns to me as he continues to speak. The darkness, thankfully, hides the agony etched into my features. "Welcome back, Linny."

A few echoes of hushed gasps reach my ears as the acolytes surrounding me either bow their heads or smile in greeting. The stark contrast between this welcome and the one I received at Cloud Ruler Temple makes my head spin. An austere female voice sounds above the rest.

"It is good to see you again."

I look up to see a woman walking down the steps that lead up to the stage, her face obscured by shadows cast by the hood of her robe. The reflections of the candlelight glint in her eyes. As I near her, I get a better view of her countenance. Her relation to the cult's leader is blindingly evident and I am saved from attempting to form a response by her embrace. How can people so evil be capable of such affection towards one another? I clearly have much to learn about the ways of monsters. A small voice in the back of my skull pipes up: _Are they monsters?_ The question burns in my thoughts. How can they not be? Just look at Kvatch, at the Emperor-how many innocents were killed there? _Nobody is truly innocent-liars, beggars, thieves, adulterers. And you are naive if you believe _any_ Emperor is innocent!_ I try to hush the voice so I can focus on the situation at hand. The robed woman before me is studying my face. Her golden skin glistens beneath the shadows and I am transfixed by her savage beauty.

"Come," she says, breaking my attention. "By happy coincidence we have a welcoming gift for you."

I follow her up the steps to the stage, my curiosity piqued. That curiosity turns to horror when I see the 'gift'. The battered and bloodied body of a semi-conscious Argonian lies at the feet of a huge, golden statue. For one terrible moment, I wonder if it is Tar-Meena, but my worries are soon alleviated, only to be renewed when the robed lady speaks again.

"Take up the dagger and offer Lord Dagon the sacrificial red-drink, as pledge of your own life's blood, which shall be his in the end."

Shock brings temporary immobility as I process her words. Kill him? If I truly am a member of this Order, my immorality must have departed with my memory and my previous assertion of these Acolytes being monsters is reconfirmed.

"The dagger is lying on that table over there," says my companion, her voice cutting through my thoughts once again.

To my right is a stone table, with a small knife and large book lying on it. The tome captures my interest more than the dagger and I move closer for better observation. It is even bigger than I first realized-easily as long as my torso. The cover is decorated with a single bizarre motif, but the most striking thing about it is the sense of unerring iniquity it exudes. A familiar sensation rises from within me, one I have felt before-the first time being in the Imperial prison when I watched the Blades get slaughtered by the assassins. Once again I must battle against its seductive allure, but, in the presence of this book, I fear this may be a battle I cannot win this time.

An impatient cough from behind reminds me why I am at this table and I tentatively grasp the dagger, the conflicting sides of my mind fighting for dominance. I return to the acolyte and look down at the sacrifice, regretting doing so immediately as his terrified face cuts straight through to my heart. What was his crime? Bad luck, I imagine and I'm sure I am in no position to carry out the sentence. What kind of a God demands the blood of innocents to _prove_ the devotion of its followers? The more dangerous side of my brain starts to battle against the other, telling me to do it, kill the pathetic creature. He is here for a reason and I start to imagine how beautifully his blood will decorate the shimmering stone statue. My breathing becomes ragged, indecision causing my hands to tremble as they grip the dagger.

"Lord Dagon thirsts for red-drink. Sate him."

A red haze clouds my vision. The nefarious voice is winning the fight. _Kill, kill, kill!_ My bloodlust is building, heart beating fast as the blood rushes past my ears. The Acolyte's voice sounds behind me, but I don't hear the words. _Kill, kill, _KILL! I swing the blade and it sinks into my victim's jugular with a wonderful squelch. The furious echoes of angry cries immediately follow, but I don't register anything more as I make slash after slash, hacking to pieces anyone who comes close enough for my blade to reach.

The rest is a blurred miasma of destruction. The occasional moment amongst the devastation imprints itself in my memory-deathly screams, scarlet spraying on the walls and ground, bolts of blinding-white lightning. The release of my rage is cathartic, blissful and I revel in the ecstasy flowing through my veins, ignoring the gratuitous insanity of my violent actions.

As I crash through the exit, oxygen hits me like a tidal wave, sobriety smacking me in the face. I tumble heavily to my hands and knees, gulping desperately for air. Tears roll freely down my face, sobs making breathing all the more difficult. I killed them, killed them all and I enjoyed every second of it. The sickening images of my recent carnage play back in my mind and my stomach heaves. Lack of food and water means nothing more than spittle leaves my mouth, making my throat raw. Eventually my breathing regulates itself and I inhale deeply, hoping to calm my hysteria. Through the tears, I notice the fresh blood decorating my hands and arms and I start retching once more.

I am not alerted to the approaching footsteps until a boot collides with my ribs, sending me to the ground. The pain is indescribable, but I do not have chance to recover before hands grab the collar of my robes and a fist connects with my jaw. I plummet to the ground once again, the salty taste of blood filling my mouth. Yanked back to my feet, I am pushed up against a rocky wall and see immediately recognisable amber eyes boring furiously into mine.

"I KNEW IT!"roars Baurus.

I haven't the energy to reply; all of it is being used to stay conscious.

"How long?" he asks. "How long have you been one of them?"

Frustrated by my lack of response, he flings me to the ground and I lay there, ready for unconsciousness or death to take me-whichever comes first. I am granted neither, forced instead to muster enough strength to speak.

"They're dead," I say, my raspy voice barely a whisper.

"What?" demands the Blade.

"They're dead," I repeat. "I killed them." The memories assault me yet again and fresh tears well in my sore eyes, but my throat is too painful for the sobs to be audible.

"You...what?" Baurus comes towards me, but a cry halts his progress. Someone comes rushing towards us and I recognise him as the sacrifice from the Dagon shrine. What is he doing here? I thought him dead along with the rest. Making sense of what happened inside the Mythic Dawn's lair during my mania is a task requiring a lot more strength than I currently possess.

"What are you doing?" I hear the Argonian ask indignantly. "She saved my life!"

I did what? Baurus stares at the newcomer, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. The almost-sacrifice, identifying himself as Jeelius, recounts the events to the Blade. I listen intently, hoping to glean some knowledge of the events myself. Once his tale is finished, the Argonian steps towards me, but is too slow to hide the expression on his face that tells me all I need to know of the state I am in.

"You may not be in a proper state to accept it," Jeelius begins. "But I owe you my life and nothing will ever convey my gratitude to you." Turning to Baurus, he says. "She needs healing."

"She will get it once we reach Bruma," Baurus replies gruffly.

"She'll never make it. I can offer some healing; enough, I hope, to last until you reach your destination."

"Do what you must."

A little perplexed by my former comrade's brusqueness, Jeelius places his hands on my forehead and the heavenly relief of Restoration swims through me. Although nowhere near fully healed, the spell is enough for me to regain the use of my legs, albeit with a little help from Baurus.

"I'll take it from here," he informs the Argonian, placing an arm around my waist to support me.

Jeelius looks from me to him, questioning my safety with the Blade. My fears mirror the Argonian's, but Baurus assures him no harm will come to me. Jeelius eventually gives me a last thank you before bidding us farewell. As he turns, he stumbles. I look to his feet to see a book lying on the ground. I recognise it, but cannot fathom how it got here. Did I bring it with me? Jeelius picks it up, but his eyes widen in horror as he, too realises what it is before hastily dropping it.

"What is that?" my support beam asks.

"It is the book used by the Mythic Dawn. Their leader was reading from it just before your friend, there, arrived."

Baurus chews his bottom lip for a moment, contemplating, before removing his arm from around my waist to retrieve the book. He carries it under one arm as he returns to me.

"This could be important; Martin will want to see it."

With yet more thanks, the Argonian finally leaves us and the look Baurus gives me is almost enough to send me limping after Jeelius. He murmurs in my ear, his voice low and very, _very _threatening.

"You have a _lot_ of explaining to do."


	7. Atonement

**A/N:**** This chapter references a character called Lileth, created by The Lady Massacre in Hear No Evil. I highly recommend the story and enormous thanks go to her for allowing me to borrow her character for mine.**

* * *

In my absence I have forgotten the severity of Bruma's wintry climate. The cold pierces straight through my robes and the pain of my wounds is unbearable. As we reach Cloud Ruler Temple, shouts herald our arrival and the gates are opened. Jauffre comes running down the steps, followed by Martin and several other Blades. The Grandmaster's face instantly sours upon seeing me, but a quick survey of my condition has concern replacing his acerbic mood.

"What in the name of the Nine happened?" he demands.

"It is a _very_ long story, Master," replies Baurus, his mood making Jauffre's seem jolly.

We make our way up the steps and Martin is about to relieve Baurus of his support-beam duty, when the crotchety Blade stops him.

"I need to speak to you and Jauffre immediately. Caroline can attend to _her_."

Martin frowns at the astringent referral to me, but does not get chance to argue, as Caroline, after receiving hasty instructions from Baurus, is already ushering me away. I am taken down to the East Wing of the temple and wonder about them deciding to leave me in the library. Were I to possess the energy to care, my mind would throb with terror worrying about my future. Lacking such vigour, I sit wearily on an uncomfortable wooden chair and rest my head on the table before me.

Darkness descends.

**000**

The clicking of fingers and gentle slaps to the face rouse me to full consciousness. I find myself sprawled on the floor, beside the table my head had previously rested on. My bleary eyes try to focus on the face of the man waking me, but I soon give up, praying he will let me be. All I want is some rest. My wish is not granted and my eyes fly open due to a violent shaking of my shoulders. Baurus forces me into a sitting position and I see Jauffre stood behind him, watching me with an inscrutable expression on his aged face. Once satisfied that my lucidity can last longer than five seconds, Baurus steps back as his master advances towards me. For a long time, Jauffre does nothing but scrutinize. Eventually a heavy sigh escapes his lips.

"I have heard many things about you, Linny," he says, making no attempt to hide the ire seeping through his words. "And they are..._disturbing_ to say the least. Are they true? Do you work for the Mythic Dawn?"

I give a nod of confirmation, a simple movement that drains a tremendous amount of strength. A trickle of blood escapes my left nostril, but nobody seems to notice, much less care.

"I am in a difficult position, Linny," the Grandmaster continues. "Everything about you is so contradictory and mysterious. It is impossible to know where your loyalties-if you even have any-lie. You were found in prison, are a member of the Mythic Dawn and assaulted a Blade; crimes for which, by rights, you should be executed. On the other hand, you closed an Oblivion Gate, rescued the heir, saved aforementioned Blade's life and liberated a sacrifice from the clutches of the acolytes you supposedly owe loyalty to!" He rubs a hand wearily across his face. "I haven't the faintest idea what to do with you. You have done so much for us, yet are such a liability. I need time to consider your fate."

With that, the Grandmaster and Blade leave the library and I am left alone to ponder Jauffre's words. What was it he called me? A _liability_. Try as I might, I cannot blame their mistrust; even to me the chain of events is bizarre. I had once thought the task of finding Martin would be a new beginning for me, but instead it has dredged up a dreadful past, haunting my every step. I wonder if they will execute me, as Jauffre said it is no more than I deserve. According to Harrow, I am responsible for the tragedy of Kvatch. How many other people had I killed? I am constantly fighting to restrain a monstrous, bloodthirsty nature that is getting stronger-what will happen if I lose control? An icy shiver runs down my spine as I concede that it is not a matter of _if,_ but _when_. I begin to wish I had been left to rot in the Imperial prison; the worst I had to endure there was the taunting of a bitter fellow inmate. Yielding to the self-pity, I let the dark blanket of despair wrap itself around me, suffocating me with its power. It would be best for them to kill me; I am a dangerous burden to them all.

Overcome by my depression, I double over to rest my forehead on the wooden floor and fail to hear the creak of the door open behind me. Buckled shoes descend the stairs to my left and stop mere inches from my head. I refuse to acknowledge the newcomer's arrival, hoping my feigned ignorance will encourage them to leave. Instead, the visitor grabs me carefully by each arm and manoeuvres my torso upright again. The blue-grey eyes of Martin Septim greet mine. Has he come to reprimand me too? From Jauffre and Baurus, disdain is nothing new, but to receive it from the only ally I once had in this place would be too much to bear. I quickly break my gaze away from his, not yet ready for his rebuff. Martin hooks a finger under my chin to lift my face.

"Those are some nasty bruises you have there," he says.

I blink dumbly in astonishment.

"And I'll wager they are not the worst of your injuries, either," he continues, moving my head to inspect every wound decorating my face. "Allow me."

With a hand placed on my forehead and a few whispered words, a Restoration spell works its way through my drained body. I soon feel more alert and the soreness is considerably lessened. I could still use a week of sleep, but know I am lucky to even receive this. The bewilderment is still painted on my face as he lowers his hand after completing the spell.

"W-why...?" My voice is a pathetically weak whisper.

"Jauffre doesn't trust you; Baurus never has-and with good reason." My shoulders droop desolately at his words, bracing myself for the inevitable rejection. "However, I am undecided," he asserts, halting my desolation in its tracks. "You are undeniably guilty of many evils, yet you have also done a great deal of good. My presence here is evidence of that."

I am so desperate to receive compassion of any kind, yet feel a fraud for doing so. He only knows half the story and wouldn't say the same if he knew the rest. I open my mouth to stop him, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

"And you released a prisoner of the Mythic Dawn when you could have easily given in to their demands to kill him," he continues. "The others may not see it, but I believe there are some redeemable qualities in you." Once again, he cuts me off before I can argue. "It is not what you _once did_, but what you _do now _that determines your character. Even the greatest of us make mistakes, but only the wisest learn from them." The priest's voice lowers. "And I, too, know something of the allure of Daedric worship."

I am too confused to speak as he stands and turns to walk away. Reaching the door, he stops and looks over his shoulder at me.

"As hard as they tried to conceal it from me, I know they are currently holding a meeting to discuss your future right now and, whether they like it or not, I _will_ have a say in the matter. Everyone deserves a second chance. Don't make me regret fighting for yours."

Martin's parting words have tears running down my cheeks, but they are not due to fear. They are of incredulity and guilt. He is fighting for me. Despite everything that has happened and everything he has been told, he is defending me, yet he still only knows half the story. I cannot truly embrace his clemency until he knows the truth. I shall be very surprised if he doesn't renege on that second chance when he learns of my involvement in the seizure of Kvatch. My thoughts soon trail off as fatigue takes hold once more and I slip into a fitful slumber.

**000**

Cramps and aches wake me, the sensation of rough fabric beneath my fingertips a tell-tale sign that I am no longer in the East Wing. When I open my eyes, however, I am taken aback to find I am not lying in the sleeping quarters of the West Wing as assumed, but still exactly where I was before I fell asleep. The only difference is the blanket beneath me. Despite my battered body's protests, I raise myself to a sitting position. The soft, tawny glow of candlelight informs me it is nightime and all is quiet around me. I look down to my left and a deep, low rumble emits from the pit of my stomach at the sight of the gruel resting in a small bowl. I have no idea how long it has been since I last ate. Picking up the spoon beside the bowl, I start to eat. In less starved times, the cold slop would probably have me retching, but right now it tastes delicious.

The library's hushed atmosphere is broken by the creaking of the door and I lift my gaze to see Baurus enter, quickening my heartbeat to rapid thuds against my chest. My hunger is forgotten, replaced by nausea. Slowly but deliberately, the Blade makes his way to the table in the middle of the room and sits on the seat furthest from me. Even from my vantage point on the floor, I can see the dark circles shadowing his amber eyes. The lines on his face etched even deeper than usual and his pallid complexion is a tired mockery of its usually bronzed self. Remorse hits me like a sledgehammer and I see now just how misjudged my actions back in the Imperial City were.

The pair of us sits in silence and I am desperate to know why he is here, yet simultaneously terrified of the answer. He is the first to break the hush.

"Surely even _you_ are not so removed from humanity that you must resort to eating food on the floor like a dog!" I flinch at the force of the bitterness coating his words. "Sit at the table, Linny."

I daren't hesitate to comply, although the speed of my movement is hindered by my injuries. I head for the chair furthest from him and with an angry sigh he kicks back the chair opposite him. "I won't bite!" he snaps, his tone contradicting his words.

His hostility makes me want to cower. To say he is angry with me is obviously an understatement and neither of us is at the top of the list of the other's preferred choice of company. So why is he here? Determined to hold back the hot tears welling up in my eyes, I grudgingly occupy the seat he allocated for me. The bowl and spoon are before me, but I still cannot bring myself to eat yet.

Another long silence charged with apprehension hangs between us. Suddenly, Baurus' fist slams against the table and he sends the bowl, along with all its contents, flying to the floor. I yelp in surprise at the sudden action.

"Gods!" he yells, the battle between anger and frustration playing out on his features. "You are so...so..._infuriating_!" Another slam of the tabletop before pointing an accusatory finger at me. "Just when I think I'm wrong about you, you go and prove me right, only to prove me wrong again moments later. What in the name of Akatosh is going on?"

I have no answer for that. The silence seems to aggravate him even more and he releases a long breath before rubbing a hand wearily over his face.

"I'm sorry," I mumble before he can yell at me again, the apology all I can offer at the moment.

"What?" he asks, the outburst having dispelled the anger to leave frustration in its place.

"I said I'm sorry," I repeat, louder this time. "For what I did. I panicked, I didn't know what to do and I can't tell you how much I regret it."

"How long have you known you were one of them?" he demands, cutting off my apology.

No explanation is needed for who he is referring to. "A while," I reply.

"Were you ever planning to tell us?"

"How could I? You already hate me; admitting I might be associated with the enemy was hardly going to remedy that."

Baurus looks away and his fingers drum restlessly against the table top. I try to ignore the throbbing of my head as I watch him, waiting for what will come next. He eventually leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, but fails to speak. He seems to be trying to formulate some kind of response, but it takes forever to be verbalised.

"I don't hate you." His words are barely audible, but it doesn't lessen their effect on me. I am left dumbstruck. He emits a groan of irritation before continuing. "Despite everything, I don't hate you, Linny. I don't particularly _like_ you but, even knowing you were-_are_-a Mythic Dawn Acolyte, I can't ignore all the good you have done in the short time I've known you." He looks me square in the eye now. "And I owe you my life."

I let the words sink in. He doesn't hate me, but, like Martin, doesn't know the whole story. Is now the time to enlighten him? Exhaustion radiates from him so I decide to hold back for now-and, yes, I am fully aware of the other reasons playing their part in my silence.

"What happens now?"

"Well," Baurus begins. "Jauffre and I discussed having you locked in here indefinitely, but Martin soon quelled that idea. In all honesty, I don't know. For obvious reasons, you cannot leave. I guess you shall just have to wait and see."

With that, Baurus stands and exits the library, leaving me to clean the mess he left behind. I can believe the Blade and Grandmaster concocting such a plan and try to picture the scene. I still don't know why Martin is so determined to defend me; I plan to find out soon enough, though.

As I retrieve the bowl, it suddenly occurs to me that I am still clad in the crimson robe of the Mythic Dawn. Deciding I have worn it for far too long, I pull it over my head, an action that elicits protests of pain from every part of my body.

As I use the robe to mop up the puddles of gruel on the floor, my mind starts to wander. So...Jauffre is still deciding what to do with me-Baurus doesn't like me but doesn't hate me either-and Martin is exploiting his Emperor status to defend me. Thoughts of Martin take me back to his earlier visit. _"I, too, know something of the allure of Daedric worship,"_ he had said. What did that mean? There is so much I desperately want to ask him, so much he could help me with-my bloodlust, my random outbursts of magicka-but that black cloud of guilt hangs between us and I am too cowardly to wade through it. I know an encounter is inevitable, but the longer I can delay it, the better. Sadly, delay tactics can only do just that-_delay_.

**000**

My role as Cloud Ruler Temple Errand Girl is quickly re-established over the coming couple of weeks. Perhaps Jauffre's plan is to load me with so many menial chores, that I shall be too preoccupied to concoct evil schemes. It's working. This time I don't complain-despite my body feeling ninety years older than it is-knowing just how lucky I am to be here.

It seems the knowledge of my role with the enemy has been kept between the Grandmaster, his Blade and the heir. With the rumours of spies that he has been sent to investigate, I have not seen much of Baurus, but our occasional encounters have seen his attitude towards me shift dramatically. We are by no means bosom buddies, but the ferocity of his glares has been toned down considerably. It's almost as if now that he knows the source of his mistrust, he is much more content. Jauffre's attitude, however, has not changed, and he more often than not simply blanks me, save for barking occasional orders at me. And Martin...well, I have barely seen him, my chores being a significant help in my avoidance manoeuvres, but I have noticed him watching me at times, quickly shifting his gaze when I catch him in the act. It is during one of these moments that Baurus returns to the Temple in spectacular fashion.

The doors burst open, a strong gust of icy wind billowing into the Great Hall. Baurus strides through, dragging the wretched form of a battered woman behind him. She is putting up a noble fight, kicking, shrieking and spitting at her captor with all her might like a deranged animal. Her clothing is soiled and torn, her tawny hair tangled and matted and bruises decorate her ashy skin. Her scarlet eyes encapsulate pure hatred as she struggles with the bindings around her wrists. It takes a moment for me to realise Baurus is leading her with a rope around her neck, like a choke-chain used for a pet dog. The image startles me. Jauffre enters the hall and his face shares the bewilderment mine carries.

"Baurus, what-?" the Grandmaster begins.

The Blade throws the woman to his master's feet. "She is one of the spies I found lurking by the Hestra rune stone. She attacked me after I killed her accomplice, but I thought she may have some useful information for us, so I brought her here."

"I will tell you nothing!" The deranged young woman yells, spittle punctuating each defiant word, earning a tug at the rope around her neck from Baurus.

I am more than a little disturbed by the barbarity displayed by him; not because I hold any pity for his victim, but because I can sense the subtle hint of pleasure he is getting from it. He seems to be enjoying this, which brings about thoughts of my own perverse bloodlust. Not for the first time, I find myself afraid of him.

"I doubt she will provide anything useful, but it is worth a try," Jauffre's cold, logical voice cuts through my observations.

"Very well," replies Baurus and he turns to lead her away.

"You attempts are useless; Dagon will come for you all!" Her wild eyes connect with each person in the room in turn. When they find Martin, she lobs a mouthful of spit in his direction. "Bastard imposter, you will never be Emperor!" she screams. The hatred her eyes contained earlier is nothing compared to the rage blazing within them when they find mine. "You-" her body shudders with fury. "You deceitful little BITCH!"

She hurls herself towards me and I jump back in terror. "How dare you show yourself before me, Traitor? You will pay for your crimes against us; mark my words, YOU WILL PAY!" Baurus attempts to cease her maniacal ramblings, but it is a futile effort. "What did you do to earn a place among these people?" she asks me and I find myself unable to unlock my gaze from hers. "Do they even know what you've done? Their forgiveness is their weakness; you will betray them all, as you have done to us! They proclaim you the Hero of Kvatch, but it is a lie!"

"Enough!" commands Baurus, whipping a hand across her face.

Still she continues, blood trickling down her chin as she releases a dangerous laugh. "Does the truth hurt, Boy?" she flings the words at him contemptuously. "Does it upset you knowing the one you commend for ending the siege is the one who started it?"

Confusion passes over the faces of Martin, Baurus and Jauffre and sheer terror stops my heart for several beats. The unhinged woman's laughter reverberates off the Great Hall's walls.

"You don't know? Hahahaha, she never told you that, did she? The great Morlinna, Heroine of Kvatch is the reason you _needed_ a hero! Every man, woman and child who died in that city did so because of her!"

All eyes fix on me now and my breathing becomes shallow as the bucket of water I carry slips out of my trembling fingers. Martin steps towards me, the expression on his face stabbing through my heart.

"Linny?" he asks.

"I-I..." There is absolutely nothing I can say in my defence. How do I justify being responsible for the destruction of his home city, of people he has known his entire life? The tears fall freely, stinging against my face, which is burning with shame, guilt and regret. They'll kill me for sure now; they have no other choice. I cannot live after such a crime; it is too much forgiveness even for a priest to offer.

I flee through the temple's entrance doors, the pain of the Winter air as it pierces the thin fabric of my clothing wrenching a gasp from me. I embrace the pain, knowing it is much less than I deserve. I am every bit as much of a monster as the acolytes I slaughtered at Lake Arrius; worse, in fact, as I have failed to remain loyal to any side. In my haste, I stumble down the entrance's small stone staircase, crashing face first onto the cold, hard ground. The breath is knocked out of me and a sentry offers assistance, but I cringe away from the human interaction. I need to get away from here! Scrambling to my feet, my eyes are greeted by the sight of Bruma's panoramic landscape. Where once its beauty would have struck me with awe, I now gawp at it in horror. Where am I going to go? A barren cave in the middle of nowhere sounds about right for me, but even my naivety doesn't stretch that far; no matter where I go I will be hunted by all sides. My betrayal of the Dawn signed my death warrant with them, but any chance of sanctuary with the Blades is now long gone. Jauffre may have grudgingly accepted my past, but nobody can overlook the severity of this new revelation. The aim of the Kvatch siege was to kill Martin, everyone knows that, so it is only a matter of time before people start linking me to Uriel's assassination-whether I was actually involved in that plan is anyone's guess. I will spend the rest of my life watching over my shoulder, awaiting death's inevitable visit.

That is when my epiphany hits, one so plainly obvious it is a wonder it didn't come before now. Much of this trouble began with me; I am the problem, but I can also be the solution. I may not be able to erase the damage already done, but I can prevent further harm.

I race towards the temple's watch towers stationed before me, heading for the one currently unoccupied. The night is silent about me, the stars shimmering brightly against their deep indigo backdrop. The atmosphere feels almost serene, cementing my affirmation that this is the right course of action. Clutching the pillar on my right for support, I place a foot on the stone wall before me and hoist myself up. The terrifyingly long drop below greets me as the howling wind whips my hair against my face and neck. Yes, I am confident the distance is more than enough to kill me upon impact.

Standing there-my grip on the watch tower's beam the only thing keeping me from falling-a sudden weightlessness spreads through my bones, like I am a bird about to take flight for the first time. There is no hysteria now. No doubt. No panic. Only calm. In a few moments it will all be over. I will be a burden no longer. Closing my eyes, I picture myself with huge, feathery wings, preparing for my greatest accomplishment. I slowly raise my right foot, release my grip on the beam and...

Gravity yanks me backwards with such force that I yelp in shock as my eyes fly open. After several moments of disorientation, I feel a strong grip on my left arm and spin to see it belong to Martin. _NO! _My mind screams in desperation.

"What are you _doing_?" he asks, his eyes round saucers of alarm.

"Let go!" I cry, wrenching my arm furiously to release it from his grip, but his fingers only tighten around my wrist. "Let GO!" I scream, hammering wildly at his hand, all traces of my suicidal calm vanishing.

"Come back inside," he demands.

"No!" I sob desperately, unyielding in my attempt to escape his clutches.

With a surprisingly strong yank, Martin pulls my body against his, wrapping his arms around me to pin my flailing limbs to my sides. Still I refuse to give in, writhing and thrashing, but cannot manage to even get an inch of space between my back and his chest.

"Stop it," I plead, unsure if he can decipher the words through the weeping. "Let me go. Leave me alone!"

"Not until you calm down!"

_I _was_ calm until you arrived! _My mind screams at him. I cannot even commit suicide properly and a pathetic hopelessness washes over me.

"Please, Martin," I beg one last time as rivulets of emotion fall down my face.

"I will not let you kill yourself, Linny."

And then my body gives up the fight and my legs buckle beneath me as I break down. The priest bears the brunt of my weight as he lowers us both to the ground, resting his back against the cold stone wall I had almost leapt from. I sit there, my body trembling as I weep uncontrollably in Martin Septim's lap, his arms and legs protecting either side of me from the bitter cold, his hold never loosening for a second. He offers no words or physical gestures of comfort, simply holding me and waiting for the trembling to stop and the bawls to subside.

I don't know how long my weeping lasts, but eventually my body is too exhausted to continue and I lean back against him, gulping deep breaths of air. He waits patiently for my breathing to regulate before speaking.

"Talk to me," he orders and I comply.

I tell him everything. From the moment I woke in the Imperial Prison to the present day; no detail is omitted. I talk of the bloodlust, the dreams and the cryptic parting message of the Mythic Dawn sponsor back in the sewers. The feelings and memories aroused by the sight of Mankar Camoran and the random bursts of magic I've displayed along the way. Whether Martin can decipher the words between the sobs and gulps for air, I don't know and don't care. All I care about is the blissful catharsis I am experiencing, releasing all the dark, terrible secrets that have burdened me for so long.

No sound or movement comes from the priest as I finish my confession. The last of my tears trickle down my cheeks as I wait for his response. Even if I could see his face, I doubt the expression it carries would be readable. What is he thinking? The silence stretches on and I feel the tension mounting in my body as I wonder just what his reaction will be. In the end I cannot take it any longer.

"Martin?" I ask hesitantly.

"As a young man," he begins, his voice quietly reminiscent. "I grew impatient with Mages Guild restrictions, as did many of my fellow Apprentices."

The statement throws me as I cannot see the connection between my tale and his. I soon give up and absorb his words.

"I do not claim fault with the guild, their knowledge and teachings were incredible, but at times we found some of their ways...restricting. In our naivety we threw ourselves into the riddles of Daedric magic, hungering for forbidden secrets. Knowledge and power were our Gods. I focused my efforts on worshipping Sanguine-the Daedric God of hedonism."

So the mystery of his enigmatic words back in the library is finally revealed to me. I reciprocate the respect shown to me by listening intently as he details the events of his own dark past, finally understanding the relevance it has with the information I divulged. It shakes me to think the caring, empathetic, composed man, between whose legs I currently sit, was once capable of the things he describes-murder, ritualistic sacrifice, orgies and a myriad of other sins.

When he starts to talk of a woman called Lileth, his voice lowers and regret pours from every word, his tone screaming the sadness I would see etched into his features if I turned to face him. He gives me a history of their relationship before going through her tragic death, for which he was responsible. His affection for her mingles with the regret. Did he love her?

I guess at the reason for telling me all of this. Perhaps he thinks it will relieve my burden a little. If only it were that easy. His crimes, as terrible as they may be, were the product of youthful ignorance and rebellion. I have no such excuse and am unwilling to allow my guilt such an easy way out.

"I've put those days behind me," he concludes. "But the bitter wisdom that one has been a fool is not without value." A pause as he lets the statement sink in. "I am not telling you this merely to make you feel better. I do not offer you forgiveness, Linny-you are not ready-but what I can offer is understanding...and help_._"

I twist my torso to look over my shoulder at him. His arms, still wrapped around me, loosen a little, but don't fully relinquish their hold.

"Help?" I query. It was the last thing I expected from him. Is he seriously offering aid to the woman who destroyed his home and former life? Surely he should embrace my death wish rather than hinder it. His reply tells me the questions are written on my face.

"You cannot erase the sins of the past, but you can atone for them. I've spent my life doing just that."

I restrain the pessimistic snort desperate to escape. "Your 'sins' hardly compare with mine," I mutter.

"Different circumstances, but the same principle."

"Are you going to turn me into a priest?"

His chest vibrates with a small chuckle. The unexpected humorous slant the conversation has taken is a little jarring, but welcome.

"No," he says with a smirk. "It is not a lifestyle I could see you living. I meant help developing your magicka and, perhaps, controlling some of the more..._objectionable_ aspects of your personality."

I consider his proposal for a moment. It still seems too good to be true. "You'd really help me, even after everything-"

"I said I can't forgive," he explains, cutting me off. "But hating you for what happened at Kvatch will not change a thing, and if it can bring some good, it would be petty of me to hold a personal grudge above the needs of the greater good."

It is Martin's turn to wait while I think. His selflessness amazes me. If we live through the Oblivion crisis, I can see him becoming a great Emperor. As for atonement, I am still not completely convinced. Can saving a life really counteract the evil of taking another? Although part of me still thinks the world would be better off without me in it, a small, quiet voice is urging me to at least _try_. Eventually my decision is made.

"Martin?"

"Yes?"

"You can let go now."


	8. Vampires

**A/N: ****My beta was bored, meaning I am able to give two chapters at once!**

* * *

"Given your habit for attracting trouble, I suggest we start with Restoration."

The dining area in Cloud Ruler Temple's East Wing is the location of my first lesson in spellcasting. Two days have passed since my suicide attempt and Martin has taken me on as an unofficial apprentice, (after a heavy dose of persuasion for Jauffre, of course). I have been eager to start. We both sit cross-legged in the middle of the floor, having moved all furniture to the edges of the room to create space. Next to the book lying between us is a small dagger, its unknown purpose making me a little nervous.

"From what you have told me, you already possess the magicka necessary for casting, but lack the discipline to control it. Now, I must warn you, this will take time. You cannot become a master overnight, so patience is key."

I nod, absorbing every word like a sponge. He opens the book and flips through to the desired page before picking up the dagger. Nervousness quickens my pulse and I pray an explanation will be forthcoming very soon.

"Don't panic, Linny," Martin reassures, obviously sensing my disquiet. "In order to heal, you need a wound. Just a small cut will do." He hands me the knife.

"You want me to cut myself?"

"You cannot heal without an injury," he explains patiently. "And I need you alive if you are serious about helping me gather the artefacts to open the portal."

As part of my atonement, I have offered to help Martin open a portal to the Daedric Realm known as Paradise, created by Mankar Camoran, where the Mythic Dawn leader is believed to be. By reading the Mysterium Xarxes, the heir has discovered a way to open such a portal, but there are quite a few items needed to do so. Unbeknown to Martin, (or maybe it wasn't, given the knack he had for reading me like a book), gaining clemency for my sins isn't my only reason for helping. Despite everything, I still want to see Camoran again. Dreams of him plague me nightly and the allure of a reunion is too strong to ignore.

Kicking my attention back to Martin, I clasp the hilt of the blade. "Where should I cut?"

"Your arm is probably best-not too deep though."

Hesitantly, I position the edge of the dagger above my forearm, just above the wrist, and look at my tutor for approval. He nods and, before I can change my mind, I pierce the skin with the tip of the blade. Blood immediately wells in the thin line I have drawn but, although it stings, the pain isn't so bad. I hand the dagger back to Martin as my eyes fixate on the trickle of blood heading for the underside of my wrist. _Now is really not the time!_

"Now, this is where the concentration comes in," he says as he places the blade back on the floor in front of him. "Close your eyes and, weird as it sounds, try to focus on the pain."

I obey, centring my thoughts on the dull throb of my wound. With the silence of the room offering no distractions, I can hear the quiet thumping of my heart pumping the blood through my veins. Martin's voice breaks through, gently offering more instructions and I am reminded of the reminiscence of Mankar Camoran teaching me the fireball spell. I search for the power buried deep inside, desperate to unlock the chest containing the magicka I know I possess. A quiver of power surges within and the surprise of it momentarily breaks my concentration.

"Are you alright?" Martin asks in response to the low gasp I involuntarily uttered.

"Fine, fine. Let me try again."

I close my eyes, once again singling out the throbbing of my cut wrist. The tingle of magicka returns and I clutch it with all my might. A small pale blue glow appears in the back of my mind and I mentally coax it to expand and grow until the light encompasses everything. The cool, soothing sensation I remember from the times others have healed me spreads through my body and I guide it towards my wounded arm. I picture the small well of blood clotting beneath the cut, visualize the skin either side pulling together, knotting to close the wound entirely. My arm tickles, but I ignore it to focus on the restoration, as I imagine the skin smoothing itself, the scar slowly fading until all that remains is smooth, flawless flesh.

When Martin tells me to open my eyes, I look down to see that the cut has disappeared completely.

"Well done," congratulates Martin.

I smile widely in triumph.

"Let's give it a few more tries to ensure it wasn't beginner's luck."

I repeat the process three more times, until a headache starts in the back of my skull.

"We shall leave it at that for tonight, I think." Martin collects the book and dagger from the floor before standing. "Spells drain a lot of energy and I do not want to exhaust you on your first go. Restoration seems to be no trouble for you, so we'll probably reach Destruction magic in a few days." He offers a hand to help me stand. "Remember to get as much rest as you can-the training will be pretty intense for the next week, until you get a good grasp of the basics. After that, learning new spells should be quite easy for you."

After rearranging the room to its former state and bidding my tutor goodnight, I head to the West Wing to retire, although I cannot imagine the adrenaline currently racing through my body will allow me much rest tonight.

**000**

The beautiful ivory body of Azura stands before me, bathed in the dusky glow of sunset. The velvety echo of her parting words reverberates in my brain. "_Bring the peace of death to my followers, and you shall earn my gratitude._" Caroline and I both look at each other with trepidation; this isn't going to be easy.

My reward for an exhausting week of training is my first assignment since the Mythic Dawn fiasco. Jauffre had needed much convincing, eventually yielding on the condition that I have an escort, who eventually turned out to be the young female Blade, Caroline. To be honest, there isn't much to say about her. In the short time we have spent together she has said little, preferring actions to words. In a way it is nice to work with someone eager to just get on with the job, but whether it is a personality trait or impatience to be rid of the task I do not know. Either way, with my new magical repertoire-including healing, fireballs and various shock and frost spells-and her swordsmanship, Martin assured us we would be in very little danger. I cannot speak for anyone else, but, to me, vampires seem more than just a _little_ dangerous.

The object of this task is to obtain Azura's Star, a Daedric artifact needed to open the portal to Paradise. To acquire said artifact, we must locate and kill a group of the Goddess' followers to end the suffering of their vampiric existence. Knowing absolutely nothing about vampires, I can only pray our blades will be enough to slay them.

The Gutted Mine, where the vampires reside, is situated southwest of Azura's Shrine. A rickety old wooden door marks the entrance and Caroline quietly opens it, electing to go in front whilst I stick close behind her. I mentally prepare a Flare spell, hoping the magicka that worked so well in training won't fail me in the real world and, if it does, the lightweight leather armour bestowed on me will provide ample protection. The stink of mildew and rot assaults our nostrils and I try not to gag, but Caroline doesn't seem to be affected.

We make our way carefully through the dimly lit corridor. In a moment of sheer brilliance, I manage to stumble on a tripwire just as Caroline is warning me about it but, thanks to the nimble Blade, narrowly avoid a swinging mace through my skull. The racket caused by the booby-trap, as well as the clatter of our armour, brings our first assailant haring towards us. Tall, muscular and armed with a long, steel blade, she swings for Caroline, who counters the attack with her katana. The weapons clash loudly and I find the perfect opportunity to test my magical proficiency. My first attempt falters, but second time proves lucky as a ball of flame shoots from my fingertips to smack the vampire square in the face. She howls as she falls to the ground and Caroline seizes the advantage to decapitate the creature. A quick nod of thanks to me and she continues down the corridor with me following at her heels.

"Which way?" I ask as we arrive at an intersection.

"I don't know," she replies, looking each way.

I bite my lip, feeling a little redundant against my well-trained companion. "Should we split up?" As soon as the recommendation leaves my mouth, I regret it.

"Too dangerous," she whispers, much to my relief. "One of us may end up facing four vampires alone."

We proceed forwards through another winding corridor to be met by two vampires this time. An arrow flies through the air to nick the shoulder of Caroline's steel cuirass as a hulking, green-skinned..._thing_ hurtles towards her.

As I race to the aid of my comrade, I fail to notice the second arrow soaring through the air until it punctures my leg, educing a cry of pain. I fall to the floor, scraping my jaw on the rough ground as I land. The archer advances, dodging the flare I throw at her. I curse as I scramble clumsily to my feet, looking desperately for the sword I dropped when I fell. Strong hands grip my shoulders, spinning me round to slam my back against the hard stone wall. The archer's gaunt, sallow face is mere inches from mine and her lips part to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. In my desperation to avoid becoming her next meal, I propel my face forwards to head butt my opponent, the force of it sending us both reeling before using another fireball on her. This one connects with her back, sending her robes up in flames.

A scream has me spinning round to see the green creature straddling Caroline, its face buried in her neck. Yanking the arrow out of my leg, I run as fast as my injury will allow, trying to ignore the fresh wave of pain elicited by each step. I sink the arrow into the back of the vampire's neck and it straightens, gurgling blood from its mouth. I help Caroline push the creature off her lap before she yells "Behind you!"

The archer, now a giant ball of flame, staggers towards us, howling with fury and pain. I grab Caroline's katana and lunge for the burning vampire, aiming to behead this one the same way Caroline killed the first. My aim doesn't quite reach the creature's neck, but slices through her shoulder and the burning body staggers backwards to fall awkwardly to the ground.

Breathing heavily, I slump beside the Blade to inspect her injuries. Removing her hand from her neck reveals two puncture wounds just below the ear. Blood gushes from the wounds and I look around frantically for something to staunch the flow. In desperation I resort to ripping off the sleeve of my tunic and pressing it against her neck. In truth, the bite wound is superficial, but it doesn't ease my worry, as I know something far worse is currently coursing through her veins-Caroline had given me ample warning about vampires on the way to the mine.

"What can I do?" I ask desperately.

"Nothing," she replies hoarsely. "Unless you can cure diseases."

I shake my head sadly. I could heal the puncture wounds but, with a disease running through her system, I am unsure if it would do more harm than good.

"Then let's just get this finished. I'll get healing in Bruma."

I help her to her feet and hand her the sword before searching for my own. My right leg throbs painfully and I have to bend down awkwardly to retrieve it. As I straighten, I see Caroline watching me, her brows raised in a question.

"I'm fine," I say. "We'd better hurry."

She doesn't question further and we continue to progress through the mine. Or, at least, we would if the chambers leading off either side of us led to more than dead ends. We inspect each thoroughly, but find no exits or hidden passages. At a loss, we both return to the main room occupied by the dead vampires.

"This makes no sense!" I cry in frustration.

Caroline gives no reply, her eyes studying the area intently. She moves between the wooden beams scattered about us and I decide to check along the walls for a hidden switch, lever or anything that may open a secret passageway. My search delivers no results, but a triumphant cry from my companion has me turning to see her clutching a rope hanging down from the ceiling and the room shudders as a section of the wall beside her starts to move.

"Thank Gods you're here," I say, earning a small smile from her in reply.

We ready our weapons and Caroline stands at the mouth of the entrance, listening for any signs of trouble. The eerie silence is discomfiting. We cautiously make our way down the almost pitch black corridor, which reminds me that I must ask Martin to teach me a light spell-should such a thing exist.

We come to yet another chamber, but, although bright compared to the path we just traversed, there is still very little light to see by. Trepidation has all my senses on high-alert and my eyes dart around wildly for signs of life, or, I should say, undead. The dark chasm of another passageway waits ominously ahead and I step closer, willing my heartbeat to slow down. From my calculations, there should be two more vampires, but they could come from anywhere. I near the passageway entrance and stop, listening carefully.

"I can't-"

My whisper is interrupted by the force of a fist connecting with my face, sending me sprawling to the ground. I emerge from my momentary blackout to see the olive-toned face of my assailant looming over me. I reflexively thrust my uninjured knee up into its crotch, unsure of the creature's sex, but knowing the action will hurt regardless. The vampire's head is thrown back as it lets out a howl and I use the incapacitation to roll from beneath it. I try to stand, but a strong heave of my ankle fells me once more. Unintelligible snarls reach my ears as I feel an impossibly heavy weight land on me, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I twist and writhe beneath the weight, but my head is yanked up by my hair and the cool steel tip pressed against my throat freezes me. The creature is about to speak when another voice interrupts.

"Release her, Orc!" Caroline commands in a steady, authoritative tone.

More garbled snarls are her reply.

"This is your last chance to earn a quick death," she counters. "If you do not comply, I shall ensure you suffer."

I envy her calm demeanour, but then she isn't the one with a sword at her throat. However, with her distracting the Orc, there is a slim chance for me to retaliate. As imperceptibly as possible, I manoeuvre my right hand from underneath me to snake between the body of my assailant and I. Praying I haven't depleted my magicka reserves, I flex my fingers, an action which immediately grabs the vampire's attention. Just as the blade is about to slice through my neck, I release a flare and the Orc drops its weapon to let out an anguished wail before Caroline hauls its screaming body off me. I roll over to see her push her katana through the creature's face, ceasing the howls of pain.

I take a few well-needed moments to gather my thoughts and process what has just happened. The coppery taste of blood hits my tongue and I spit a large mouthful of it onto the ground beside me. Painful throbs assault my head and I massage my temples as Caroline crouches before me.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

"Never better," I reply thickly.

The sarcasm brings a smirk to her face as she helps lever me to my feet. She looks over at the still body of the Orc she has just slain and furrows her brow.

"What is it?" I query as she bends down to retrieve something beside the vampire.

As she returns to my side, I see a small roll of parchment in her hand. She opens it and we move closer to the only lit torch in the chamber to read the faded words better. Bringing the parchment closer to my eyes, I can just about read the hastily scrawled lettering decorating the page.

_My name is Ghola gro-Muzgol. My companion's names are Aranalda, Nille Elf-Daughter, Avita Cassiana, and Umar gra-Khar.__The vampire Dratik died by our hands, but the price was dear. Those into whose hands we have fallen, we thank you, and pray your favor.__We served Lady Azura. Bring these, our last words, to the Her Shrine. We praise Her with the full fountain of our devotion.__Our destinies were written in the stars, that our souls and reason be slain, and our world lost forever.__None can escape Her Fate. But let us be remembered at Her shrine, and in the hearts of Her servants.__"It is only by fate that any life ends, and only by chance that it is mine...not yours._

Caroline and I both look over at the slain body of Ghola gro-Muzgol and an uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach. We killed them without even thinking about it, before even trying to reason or find out more about them. Then again, Azura had asked us to end their suffering and they did attack us first. But we were trespassers and they were protecting their land.

All this thinking is doing nothing for my headache, so I postpone the regret for a while, allowing Caroline to tuck the parchment into her boot. We head for the passageway leading to the exit and my foot connects with something, sending me to the ground for the umpteenth time. I can see the smile tugging at Caroline's lips and she puts a hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter.

"What-?" I begin, twisting to identify the object I tripped over. It is the body of a woman, lying face down on the ground. "Who is that?"

"That," replies the Blade through stifled chuckles. "Is the vampire that emerged after the Orc...although what damage she thought she could do armed with nothing but an Alteration spell is beyond me."

After a last glance at the vampire, I position my hands beneath my chest, ready to lever myself upright. For a moment, I wonder if the effort would be wasted given my body's current inability to remain standing; perhaps I should just crawl back to Bruma. Ever the embodiment of persistence, however, I clamber, yet again, to my feet.

"Bloody atonement!" I grumble under my breath as we head back to the Shrine.

A pale peachy glow emerges from the horizon, signalling the oncoming of dawn as we reach the Shrine. A couple of the worshippers we had encountered earlier remain, including Mels Maryon, who had kindly explained the pain-in-the-arse process of collecting glow dust from a Will-O-The-Wisp in order to activate Azura's Shrine. This time, the ritual is not needed and the goddess' beautiful voice echoes throughout the clearing.

"_Thank you, mortal. Their spirits are free, and henceforth, above my shrine, five bright candles shall burn forever in memory of their sacrifice. For your service, take this token, that your deeds might be entered in the Book of Fate."_

At the foot of the statue appears a small object roughly the size of my palm. Eight sharp yet delicately curved segments circle the circumference of a beautifully embellished rounded centre. As I pick up the surprisingly light artefact, it seems a shame to have to give such a gorgeous item away.

Once secured in the knapsack Martin provided, I look over at Caroline. In the daylight, I can see the dark shadows encircling her eyes and know they are caused by more than just fatigue. Her skin has taken a more ashen pallor and I notice the subtle droop of her shoulders.

"Will you make it to Bruma?" I ask.

She nods and we do not delay the return journey any longer.

**000**

"Open the gate!" I cry, jumping up and down as I wave frantically to ensnare the attention of the sentries stationed in the watchtowers of Cloud Ruler Temple.

Caroline leans against the stone wall of the Temple, her breathing shallow as perspiration drips down her face. Her health has deteriorated alarmingly during our journey back from the Shrine, with me dragging her for the majority of this last day.

The heavy wooden doors slowly part and I loop my arm around her waist, placing hers around my shoulders to help her hobble up the steps. Baurus is the first to greet us, immediately relieving me of some his comrade's weight as he helps me carry her.

"What happened?" he asks, his brow furrowed in alarm.

"Bloody vampires are what happened," I reply.

He blanches at the news, his gaze falling on Caroline's haggard face as he hastens his pace. I try to keep up and we part ways at the temple entrance doors as he and Caroline head to the West Wing. Entering the Great Hall, I find it empty, save for the lone Blade walking past me. The table nearest the roaring fire is laden with books, some opened and others stacked precariously.

Nearing the cluttered table, I peek at some of the titles of the tomes and one in particular catches my eye. Situated apart from the other books, it is almost twice as large as some of the others, with a crudely drawn design emblazoned on the cover. I immediately recognise it from the sacrificial chamber in the Mythic Dawn lair. Is that the Mysterium Xarxes Martin mentioned? The dark power exuding from the book draws me in and I cannot resist running a finger along the motif. It feels rough beneath my fingertip and I wonder what method had been employed to draw it. Was it burned on or engraved? Eventually my curiosity overwhelms me and I grasp the edge of the cover, ready to flip it open, when a large hand covers mine. I jump in surprise and look up to see the cool eyes of Martin Septim glaring down at me. When did he get there?

"I wouldn't advise it, Linny." The words are spoken calmly but the warning behind them is clear.

Flustered, I look away, sliding my hand from beneath his as I mumble an apology. Thankful for the diversion, I grab the knapsack tied to my scabbard and pull out Azura's Star, placing it on top of the Xarxes. His face brightens in wonder as he picks up the artefact to study it.

"Ah, Azura's Star...as beautiful as all the tales tell," he comments, voice thick with awe and wonder. He looks at me again. "What happened?" he asks, circling a finger around his face to indicate the bruises decorating mine.

I recount the entire expedition, trying hard not to scrutinize his expression as I relay my successful use of magicka. Alarm widens his eyes when I tell him of the bite Caroline received.

"A trip to the Chapel of Talos in Bruma will be in order, but she should otherwise be fine," he says, much to my relief. "You got her back here just in time."

I let out a deep breath I don't even realise I am holding and reach back to pull my braided hair over my shoulder as I sit at the table.

"You should get some rest and clean up," counsels Martin as he seats himself opposite me.

"I will in a while," I say as I begin freeing my hair. "For now, it's just nice to sit down. Have you made any more progress with the ritual?"

After running one hand through his hair and another over his face he pushes aside the pile of books partially obscuring me from his view. "Some. It shouldn't be too long before I decipher the second item needed."

I nod and we sit for a while in companionable silence-me untangling my hair while Martin continues his reading of the Mysterium Xarxes. Lost in the pages, he doesn't notice his one-woman audience and an odd sense of déjà vu tickles the back of my brain.

_The hour was late, with torchlight and shadows throwing strong contrasts across the young adolescent girl's features as she navigated the winding chambers of the Lake Arrius Caverns. The gentle whisperings of the wind flew through the air and fine tendrils of her silvery hair danced in the gentle breeze before caressing her skin. She wasn't sure where she was going, just appeasing the aimless wandering her mind often craved on sleepless nights. A sound emanated from the room ahead and she immediately quieted her footsteps, knowing the occupant of the room would not appreciate any intrusion. She was surprised he had left the door open; he obviously hadn't expected many interruptions at this hour._

_Silent as a cat, Linny tip-toed towards the door hanging slightly ajar, pressing her face against the gap to observe what was happening inside. The tall, slender profile of her master, Mankar Camoran, stood before her, hunched over a large table. His absorption in the open book positioned in the middle of the table was so absolute that she doubted he would even notice if she ran up to him and screamed his name. _

_His elegant finger traced the words on the pages and she could hear the distant murmur of his silky voice. Once again she was struck by the Altmer's immense beauty-his vivid scarlet eyes, the long, straight line of his nose, the sculpted cheekbones leading down to a sharply chiselled jaw. He had rescued her from a life of abuse and she could only dream of acquiring the greatness he exuded so easily._

_Lost in her admiration, she wasn't aware she had caught his attention until his eyes locked with hers. She gasped in fright and was ready to run, when he called her name and beckoned for her to enter. Hesitantly, she complied, stopping just inside the doorway._

"_You are up late, Linny," he commented quietly, his intense, steady gaze burning into her retinas._

"_I-I couldn't sleep." Fearing his wrath, she immediately launched into an apology. "I'm so sorry, Master; I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just walking by and saw the light and-"_

"_Hush, child," Mankar soothed. "Come here."_

_Linny stepped forward and he placed an arm around her shoulders once she was close enough. She was extremely aware of the warmth of his fingers sinking through the thin fabric of her tunic. She tried to resist the distraction, forcing herself to focus on his words._

"_Do you know what this is, my dear?" he asked, gesturing to the book on the table._

_Linny looked at the large tome. The pages were filled with foreign black lettering, interspersed with bizarre motifs painted in vibrant red. It was fascinating, but she had no idea what any of it meant. Her head shook in reply to his question._

"_This," he explained, his voice brimming with reverence. "Is the Mysterium Xarxes, written by the great Lord Dagon himself."_

_Her eyes sparkled with awe as she listened. To be so close to such a thing! She could hardly believe the honour bestowed upon her._

"_With it, I shall create a world more beautiful than anything you could imagine." He looked right at her then, flashing a rare smile that made her heart flutter. If he was aware of the effect he had on his young Acolyte, he made no sign of it. "Paradise! A realm reserved for those who truly deserve the reward. If you continue to develop the promise you have so often shown, there shall be a special place reserved just for you."_

_The girl's heart swelled with longing, pride and desperation. Once again, she repeated the vow she had made to him seven years ago, at the tender age of eight. She would do anything for him, no matter the cost._

"Linny?"

A sharp intake of breath as my head snaps up to see Martin looking at me with an odd expression on his face. "Yes?"

"Where were you just now?" A chuckle follows his words.

My face flushes a deep crimson. "Nowhere. Sorry, I, um...just tired, I suppose."

Will the visions ever stop? It's bad enough to have these feelings for a man I barely know-who is the founder of a monstrous cult-but to be harassed by memories, dreams or whatever-they-are of him day and night is becoming unbearable. And it troubles me that recently Martin has been the trigger for them, his actions in real life mirroring those of Camoran in my dreams. They are like two ends of a magnet; so alike, yet poles apart. Suddenly the prospect of sleep isn't quite so appealing.

The option of sleeping is quashed the moment the temple doors swing open, heralding the arrival of two Blades led by a shabby peasant boy. It is rare to find someone looking even worse for wear than I, which immediately sparks my interest. His feet are bare and scorch marks adorn his tattered clothing, while his dark hair sticks out in all directions. I cringe at the burns on his hands and face.

He staggers to the middle of the room before collapsing to the floor. Martin is at the boy's side in an instant and orders me to find Jauffre. After a frustratingly long search, I find the Grandmaster in the West Wing, speaking with a couple of Blades I don't recognise. My first few attempts to grab his attention are ignored until I end up yelling about the boy upstairs, after which he has no choice but to listen.

Martin has the boy sat at one of the wooden tables nearest the fire _not_ laden with books and is helping him drink from a small cup when I return.

"What is going on?" Jauffre asks.

After a few last gulps of water, the boy looks up at us, his eyes brimming with tears. He cannot be older than seven or eight at the most. Blood mats a clump of hair behind his left ear.

"Th-th-they c-came-"sobs interrupt the stuttered words and Martin rubs the boy's back, offering words of reassurance.

"Grandmaster," says a newcomer as he steps forward. His armour is the first giveaway that he is not a Blade. The cuirass is a deep yellow, with the ornate design of a bird emblazoned on the front. "I am Gerich Senarel, Lieutenant of the Bruma City Guard and believe I can speak for the child. An Oblivion Gate has opened just outside Bruma. A small group of people travelling to the city were unfortunate enough to be there when it opened. I believe," the soldier's voice lowers. "The boy was the only survivor."

Consternation paints Jauffre's face upon hearing the news and his brow furrows as he takes a moment to think. "Where are Captain Burd and the rest of the Guard?"

"On their way to the gate, Grandmaster," answers the soldier.

"Good. Thank you, Lieutenant. Tell the Captain to await my orders before entering the Gate."

The soldier is dismissed and Jauffre begins pacing the Hall, rubbing his chin in thought. An open Gate so close to the temple is a bad omen; even I can see that. Who will he send to shut it? Just the thought of the fiery wastelands of Oblivion makes my skin crawl, more for the events that took place than the actual place itself.

"Jauffre," Martin begins, rising from his seat beside the whimpering child. "What are we going to do?"

"Obviously the gate must be shut," replies the old man. "But, with absolutely no knowledge of how, I don't know if Burd and his men can."

He stops suddenly and something flashes across his face. The knot in my stomach grows tighter as the Grandmaster slowly turns towards me. Martin makes the connection immediately.

"No!" the priest counters, standing in front of me. "Linny is in no fit state to go into the Gate."

"Believe me, Your Highness, if I had any other choice, I would take it but I do not. She is the only person here who knows how to close an Oblivion Gate." Jauffre's beady hazel eyes find mine and the look they contain makes my heart ache with grief. "I know you have just been through an ordeal, but I would not ask if I did not need to."

_Oh, Gods, please don't make me do this, _my mind silently begs._ No good will come of it! If I can work out how to close an Oblivion Gate, I'm sure Captain bloody Burd can! _I try with all my might to retain my stubbornness, knowing it will only take the gentlest push to break my resolve.

"Linny," Martin says, seeing the indecision on my face. He places a hand on each shoulder. "You do not have to do this."

"Please, Linny," Jauffre pleads, ignoring Martin. "You did it for Kvatch; will you not do it for Bruma?"

Uh-oh.


	9. Downright Underhanded

**A/N:**** Yay, another double update!**

* * *

_Bastard! Of all the sly, sneaky, devious, downright underhanded_...

I silently fume as the Blade, Belisarius, leads me towards the outskirts of Bruma. Martin had been even more furious with Jauffre than I, reprimanding the old man for landing such a low blow. After his comment about Kvatch, there was no way I could refuse the Grandmaster's request. To be honest, a part of me is glad to finally be of use; the only problem is every time I get involved with the Daedra, another sordid part of my past comes back to slap me across the face. I dread to think what it will be this time.

Reaching the gate, I see a small band of Bruma soldiers clustered several feet from the flaming chasm. A tall, helmeted soldier approaches to introduce himself.

"I am Captain Burd, commander of the Bruma Guard." He bows his head to the Blade. Upon seeing me, the eyes, partially hidden by the rim of his helmet, narrow. "And you are?"

"This is Morlinna." Belisarius gestures towards me. The use of my full name feels peculiar. "Grandmaster Jauffre has sent her to help you close the Oblivion Gate."

The Captain doesn't even bother to hide his amusement at the suggestion as laughter escapes the smile on his lips. The insulting disregard has my hackles rising.

"If you think you can manage without me then, by all means, go ahead," I comment tartly. "However, being the only person here who has actually _closed_ an Oblivion Gate before, you may wish to reconsider."

My sarcasm earns a scowl from Burd. "Who do you think-?" he begins.

Belisarius steps between the Captain and I with outstretched arms. "May I suggest," he offers. "That we focus our hostility on the Daedra?"

As if on cue, several of the impish creatures first seen at Kvatch appear through the Gate, launching balls of flame as they come. Before I can react, Belisarius pushes me behind the safety of a large tree. Shouts and screeches of soldiers and imps alike pervade the air and, sure enough, that familiar spark of excitement shoots up my spine. I try to remember Martin's advice-distract the mind by focusing on my own actions.

Peering round the tree, I see several Bruma Guards dodging the orbs of flame being launched at them, hindering their ability to get the enemy in range. Trusting in the hope that the imps have not seen me yet, a plan formulates in my mind. Nothing is being thrown my way, so I circle the tree a little to gain a better vantage point. Using all my concentration, I outstretch my arm and aim at the devilish creature nearest me. The flare jets from my palm to hit my target square in the chest and it lets out a high-pitched wail of pain as it falls to the ground. As quickly as possible, I locate my next target before securing another hit. The cockier part of my consciousness perks up. _I'm getting good at this_!

Riding on the elation of my successes, I continue my efforts until the threat is eliminated completely. Aside from a few burn wounds, nobody on our side is seriously injured, thankfully. Belisarius quietly congratulates me before Captain Burd signals me.

"You could have warned us about them," the latter accuses when I reach him.

My mouth hangs open in disbelief. _Of all the ungrateful..._

"Never mind," the ass continues. "We cannot linger. Bor, Soren!" he shouts to two of the soldiers, who jog over to us. "You two will come with Morlinna and I into the Gate." Burd then turns to the remaining soldiers. "The rest of you, wait here and kill anything else that comes out of this damned Gate!"

After receiving a quick round of salutes, Captain Burd turns to me once more.

"Lead on."

Trepidation mounting with every step, I walk up to the blazing portal, gulping down my last deep breath of fresh air before entering.

If I had the power to turn perspiration into gold, then five minutes in an Oblivion plane would make me the richest woman alive. I push back the sticky strands of damp hair clinging to my face as I shout over the howling of the sweltering wind bombarding our bodies.

"We need to get to the main tower," I elucidate. "Inside is the Sigil Stone. Removing it from the tower will destroy the Gate in Bruma."

"How will we leave this place?" asks Soren, the fear encapsulating him entirely. I wonder if his nerves will allow him to even make it that far.

"Touching the Sigil Stone will transport us back to Bruma."

The three Brumans share uneasy glances with one another before we make our way through the smouldering, hazardous landscape.

"By the Nine, what is _that?"_

I look up at the grotesque construction towering over us to which the Captain refers, its peak lost amongst the swirling crimson clouds. Bor heads for the entrance door, his face paling in disgust as he guesses the material it is made from.

Once inside, we are immediately beset by Daedra-some scamps and others the tall humanoid mages robed in black. Awkward little buggers that they are, I focus my attention on the wretched imps, while the more experienced soldiers take down the larger, more dangerous creatures. With three enemies advancing on me, I have to act fast (not the easiest feat considering I was beyond weary before even entering this bloody place) and do not escape the skirmish unharmed, taking a fireball to the stomach in the process. Having killed its two comrades, as well as narrowly missing its attacks, the third scamp lets out a holler of frustration before leaping on top of me. The creature is surprisingly strong for its size, but a well-aimed kick from me manages to send it flying into the waterfall of fire at the centre of the room.

After several minutes resting with my back on the floor, I begrudgingly lever myself to my feet, seeing that Burd and his men have dealt with the two robed Daedra and I lean against a wall, my drained body feeling the effects of my heavy exertions. Forget Soren; I don't even know if _I _will make it out of here! Knowing my magicka is nearly depleted, I will have to rely on the use of my sword-a prospect which doesn't fill me with much confidence.

"Which way now, Morlinna?" asks Burd, his subtle evaluation of my condition failing to escape my notice.

I point to the black door ahead of us and the Captain's subordinates race towards it. I try to follow, but am restrained by a grip on my arm.

"You are in no fit state for combat," Burd says quietly. "Just stick close and let us do the fighting."

"I'm fi-"

"A dead guide is no good to us," he asserts.

_Nice to know my welfare is so high on his priority list, _I grumble silently. I don't bother arguing, instead resigning myself to following at Captain Burd's heels.

We follow the steep tilt of the dark, narrow corridor as it leads to the next hall and, seeing as I cannot fight, I seize the opportunity to learn from the three soldiers whose battle experience far exceeds my own, much as I did with Ilend Vonius. It seems like an age has passed since the events at Kvatch, but, sensing the obligatory wave of remorse that churns my stomach at any mention of the doomed city, I quickly push the rumination aside. I may not be at the front line of the fighting, but I still need to retain my focus.

As the door at the end of the corridor slides open, the memory of several booby-traps scattered about the last tower I ventured through hits. I grab at Soren's gauntleted arm, before he is skewered by the metal spikes ready to protrude from the walls the second a hapless victim walks by.

"See those holes in the wall?" I point to the vertical line of holes decorating the edges of the walls either side of us. "You'll need to run past them as quickly as you can before the spikes kill you."

The soldier's eyes widen in terror.

"Don't worry," I reassure him. "If I can do it, then you will have no trouble."

Soren takes a few hesitant steps towards the dreaded outlets, swinging his arms several times, readying himself for the treacherous sprint. With an inarticulate yell he dashes past, foiling the lethal plans of the spikes as they slice through the air. Bor follows his comrade with the same results, as does Burd. My turn is up next and I must admit I suffer a moment of doubt as to whether or not I will be fast enough. After a stern pep talk with myself, I race through the opening and a flood of relief washes over me at my success.

Thankfully, no Daedra are present in this particular hall, so we are free to proceed with our mission. The next hall is where our luck ends, however, as yet more scamps and assorted other Daedra attack. Burd orders me to stick close to him and I am happy to oblige.

It may be the awe bred from my own inexperience, but I cannot help marvelling at the skill of the three soldiers. There is a brutal grace to the way they wield their weapons, the absolute conviction of their cause lending strength to their attacks. Despite Burd's request that I refrain from fighting, I unsheathe my sword, ready to stand my ground should any enemies slip through the Bruma Guards. One almost does, throwing a bolt of lightning my way. I'm able to dodge just in time and the bolt leaves a sizzling scorch mark in the wall where my head had just been. From behind me erupts a ferocious snarl and I whip round to see a hulking armoured figure careering towards me. I let out a scream and Burd turns to see the Daedric warrior wielding a giant mace, its decapitating swing aimed right for my head. In one lightning-quick movement, the Captain's arm extends and a burst of magicka escapes his palm to collide with the creature's mace-wielding arm. The aggressor freezes mid-swing and Burd yells at me to kill it while I have the chance. Needing no encouragement, I immediately thrust my sword into my opponent's monstrous face, earning a thick splatter of maroon across my own.

Burd, Soren and Bor finish off the last of our opponents and I begin to search the body of the felled beast.

"What are you doing?" asks Bor, cringing as I slip my fingers underneath the cuirass.

"Looking for the key," My reply receives a look of utter bafflement that would have me laughing under different circumstances. "It unlocks the room holding the Sigil Stone," I explain, letting out a triumphant 'ah-hah' when my fingertips finally grasp the gnarled form of the key. _Not far now, Linny_, I reassure myself.

We near the top of the tower and I am anxious to leave this place. It will take something truly extraordinary to make me return to the damnable hellhole of Oblivion. When the door to the room containing our ultimate goal opens, two more of those hulking figures come barrelling through, one swinging yet another terrifying mace, the other wielding a blood-stained blade twice the size of Burd's.

I am shoved back so hard that I end up falling to the ground and see the three soldiers ducking and diving to dodge the vicious attacks of the Deadra. Obviously, if that battle-hardened trio are having trouble, then any combative attempt made by me is pointless, so I focus the last of my strength on preparing several flares to throw at the enemies. They fly out of my hand in rapid succession and, although not incapacitating, they offer a great opportunity for the Bruma soldiers to land fatal blows.

Without a moment of rest, Soren has me back on my weary feet and we charge into the room. More unintelligible wails greet us and Burd turns to me, a look of desperation on his severe face.

"We can't hold them all back! Where is the stone?" he asks.

"Right at the top," I answer, pointing upwards.

"The enemy is waiting for us. Morlinna, it is imperative that at least one of us reaches that stone."

I don't like the way this is heading.

"We are skilled in battle," he continues. "So we will hold off the enemy, whilst you concentrate on getting that stone."

"But what about you three?" They deserve to live much more than I. If anything, I should be the distraction to ensure they all return to safety. Martin would probably baulk at such a notion and I find it odd that the priest should enter my thoughts at such a moment.

"We swore our lives to protect Bruma," Burd declares nobly. "And nothing can break that oath!"

Before I can argue further, Burd pushes me towards the ramp encircling the room's circumference. At the second level, three Daedric warriors await us and Bor and Soren unquestioningly follow the Captain into battle, providing the perfect distraction for me to continue upwards to the stone. Although the numbers are evenly matched, the odds are still horribly stacked in favour of the Daedra. Amidst the swing of his blade, Burd yells at me to continue. That image of those three noble warriors making their last stand shall forever be imprinted in my memory and bitter tears blur my vision as I dash up the last ramp.

The knowledge of the Sigil Stone sitting reverently atop the roaring column of fire, travelling up through the centre of the tower, lends speed to my feet, but, before I can reach the top, a fist slams into my left cheek. I sail backwards, but before my body even touches the ramp hands grip my shoulders and yank me upright before throwing me against the nearest wall. Pain explodes through every nerve as I slump to the ground, desperately trying to breathe. I'm sure I heard several cracks as I collided with the wall. An agonizing yank of my hair forces me to my feet and a knee collides with my stomach, eliciting a breathless yelp from my bleeding lips.

With a hand around my throat, my assailant pins me against the wall as he lets out a hideously distorted chuckle. The tip of a terrible blade mere inches from my eyes catches my attention and I know I am about to die. My heart weeps in agony, sending silent apologies to every single person in Bruma that I have failed. The only possible consolation is that the world will soon be rid of me. I try to cling to that as I shut my eyes, awaiting the fatal blow.

"Halt!"

My eyes fly open to see Captain Burd stood at the top of the ramp. He waits there, barely able to stand, pride and valour the only things keeping him upright. With blade poised, ready to strike, he looks like a bloodied avenging angel, the fury in his eyes more than equalling the might of the creature's before me. It turns its head slowly, as though begrudging having to divert its attention to something so worthless. After a quick study of the Bruma Captain, the Daedric warrior advances on him and I once again slump to the floor.

Seeing my last chance, I crawl towards the Sigil Stone, ignoring the tumultuous pain assaulting every last inch of my body. I _have_ to reach it, if it's the last thing I do; Burd's death shall not be in vain! My fingers are mere millimetres from the stone, but I cannot bring myself to take it yet. I can only assume Bor and Soren are already lost, but there is a chance for me to save one life today. I crane my neck over towards the two fighters and scream Burd's name. If I can just get him close enough...

The Captain, dancing and dodging the Daedra's attacks with as much speed and grace as his battered body will allow, yells over his shoulder back at me.

"What are you waiting for?" His eyes daren't leave his opponent; a split second lack of concentration could cost his life.

"You," I reply. "Try to get as close to me as you can."

"There isn't-"

"Just do it!"

Without breaking step, Burd shifts his position so his back is directly facing me. The Daedra, who obviously assumed I was no longer a threat, looks at me, rage distorting its already hideous face. It charges for me, but Burd used the momentary distraction to gain a head start. As soon as he is close enough, my fingers clutch his hand as my other fingers slam against the Sigil Stone. The tower starts to shake violently, the flames holding the stone aloft now spreading throughout the entire building. Blinding orange light assaults my retinas and I squeeze them shut, praying we leave Oblivion before the fiend reaches us.

The roaring fire is the last thing I hear before unconsciousness envelopes me.

**000**

Thunderous collisions of skin against skin bombard my eardrums. If I had the strength, I would plug them with my fingers, but my muscles pulsate with tremendous pain. I force my somnolent eyelids to move, opening further with each painful blink. A heavy weight rests on my stomach and cropped dark hair is the first sight to greet my eyes as they shift downwards. Who is that? Something warm sits in my hand. A black orb. The events come rushing back. Bruma, the Oblivion Gate, the Sigil Stone. We made it? My facial muscles would twitch into a small smile if they could.

The weight on my stomach lifts and I see the dark haired figure rise to his feet. Burd! Is he alive? Before I can find out hands clasp beneath my armpits and the disorientating shift of gravity spins my head. I pitch forwards, the palms of my hands slamming against metal. The arms about my waist are all that hold me upright as my legs refuse to function.

"Linny?"

The voice is familiar, but my addled brain needs time to allocate the owner. I look up to see Belisarius' anxious face studying mine. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out of my desiccated throat.

"Hush, let's get you back to the temple," he says, keeping his right arm around my waist, whilst the left holds my wrist.

Nobody stops us as we start to hobble away and I am thankful for it; I don't even have the energy to walk, let alone converse, proven by the fact that Belisarius is carrying the majority of my weight.

The journey back to Cloud Ruler Temple seems endless and I am nearly weeping with pain and exhaustion as we reach the gates.

"Almost there," Belisarius whispers encouragingly into my ear. Gods, this man is a saint!

A congregation of people gathered outside the entrance doors charges forward as we ascend the stone steps and I cower into Belisarius' form, unable to withstand the assault on my senses. Quite rightly, they are all anxious to know what happened, but I cannot face the grilling just yet.

"What happened?" Jauffre leads the onslaught. "Is the Gate shut?"

_Sod the Oblivion Gate! _I want to scream.

"Did anyone else make it?" Baurus queries, although his may be directed more towards his fellow Blade than I.

More voices join them, piling question after question on top of me, until the weight of the interrogation is unbearable. The sounds all mingle into one and the pounding in my head feels like bolts of lightning cracking through my skull. I try to beg for them to stop, but my voice isn't even audible enough to call a whisper. Dizziness sends the world spinning and a foggy veil covers my eyes as my legs begin to cave in. Through my bleary vision, I can just make out a figure pushing through the crowd, moving Belasarius aside before scooping me up into their arms. My body sags, leaning gratefully into the person carrying me.

Before I even realise it, we enter the East Wing and I am laid out on a table in the library. The unfastening of buckles piques my curiosity but I am barely conscious enough to investigate. Cool air caressing my feet informs me my boots have been removed, with my scabbard, gloves and cuirass soon following suit. A hand presses my forehead and the oh-so-wonderful feeling of Restoration absorbs into my skin as it begins massaging the myriad wounds assailing my muscles. The relief is almost overwhelming as it douses the fiery pain.

My alertness is greatly increased and I open my eyes to see Martin shoving the removed apparel under the table. The door swings open and an irate Baurus enters. My eyes snap shut as I pretend to sleep, praying the ruse will defer his questions for later.

"Is she awake yet?" chimes the young man's baritone.

"Tell Jauffre he will get his answers when she is coherent enough to give them," Martin replies coolly.

The scene is reminiscent of when I awoke in the chapel at Kvatch. Footsteps precede the sound of a closing door before more steps approach me.

"He is gone," says Martin. "You can open your eyes now."

With a sigh of gratitude, I lift my eyelids and am assisted into a sitting position. A cup of water is handed to me and I take tentative sips, revelling in the sensation of the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat. After rolling up his sleeves, Martin sets to work assessing my injuries before treating them. All the while, the priest's angry mutterings provide a background melody for his labour. They soon get too much.

"Martin!" I beg, my weariness turning admonishment into a pathetic whine.

With a small shake of his head he lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, Linny," he says, carefully wrapping a bandage around a deep gash in the arm exposed by my torn tunic sleeve. I don't remember that injury, although there are probably quite a few like that. "I just don't like the way you are treated by some people here."

"It's no more than I deserve," I reply, my voice still gravelly.

"If that were true," scoffs Martin. "I wouldn't be helping you."

"Maybe you are just a bad judge of character," I counter.

His eyes look up from the bandage to throw a glare my way.

"Look," I stubbornly continue. "Not everyone is as altruistic as you. Some hold grudges, and with good reason."

"No," Martin stops, resting a hand either side of my legs as he gives me a level stare, his eyes burning with indignance. "Bearing a grudge is one thing-I would respect that-but what Jauffre did was manipulative and cruel. Blanking you and offloading menial servant's chores onto you for the majority of your stay and then suddenly begging for help like a dearest friend owed a favour is not on-especially when using the tactics he did!"

"He didn't have a choice."

"Oh, yes he did! You could have explained to Captain Burd the process before they entered the gate. If you can manage to work out how to close one, I'm sure an army of trained soldiers can."

"There might have been things I forgot," I offer weakly.

"Why are you defending him?"

I have no reply to that as his eyes bore into mine. With them so close, I can see the multiple hues of blue and grey swirling together, framing the black of his pupils. In all honesty, I don't know why I'm defending Jauffre. Perhaps it's the guilt; maybe I am just so desperate to gain favour with everyone that I will do anything to get it. I think, deep down, a part of me feels that Jauffre's opinion of me isn't far wrong, that it is Martin's judgement that is off.

"I give up," the priest sighs, resuming his task.

I sit in silence as he works, wishing I had something else to say.

"There," he says when he is finished. "You will be very sore for a few days, but you'll live. I'll try to find you some looser clothing; I don't want the wounds aggravated."

I nod and slide down off the table. A barrage of aches and pains voices my body's protests and I breathe in sharply. Hearing the sound, Martin turns to me.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his brows drawing together in concern as he takes my arm.

"As you said, I'll live."

I take a few staggering steps forward, but Martin prevents me from taking any more.

"Sit down; I'll get Jauffre for you."

It doesn't take long for him to return, a small bundle in his hand, with the Grandmaster, Baurus and Belisarius following at his heels.

"How are you feeling?" asks Jauffre, seating himself opposite me at the table.

The two Blades stand either side of their master, whilst Martin takes the seat beside mine, placing the bundle of fabric on the table before folding his arms across his chest. It's obvious the priest is still angry with Jauffre, but trying not to appear too petulant.

"Fine," I reply, self-conscious beneath the glare of the three pairs of eyes fixed on me.

"I shan't take up too much of your time; I know you are weary," A quick glance at Martin as Jauffre says this. "Belisarius has recounted the events before you entered the Oblivion Gate; I just need you to tell me what happened inside."

I comply, recounting the events being no difficulty, as they are still so horribly fresh in my mind. The three before me listen intently, grief altering their features when I tell of Bor and Soren's sacrifice. Something suddenly hits me.

"Is Burd alright?" I ask desperately. _Please say he survived!_

"He is badly wounded, but alive," answers Jauffre.

I feel like a gigantic weight has been lifted off my shoulders and recline against the back of the chair. That is a small victory, at least. Obviously countless more lives have been saved by closing the Gate, but I cannot place faces to them; I only see the image of Bor and Soren's brave defence against the Daedra. After a long period of quiet, Jauffre leans forward, forearms resting on the table as he clasps his hands together. He seems to be working himself up to saying something. I can only guess at what.

"Linny," the old man begins. "I want to thank you for all you have done for us. I know I may not show it, but I _do_ appreciate it."

I blush, more from surprise than anything. What brought this on? Nodding is all I can do at the moment, but it seems to be enough for Jauffre as he stands to leave.

"Get some rest, Linny."

My eyes follow the three armour-clad men as they exit the library, relieved that ordeal is finally over.

"Well, you heard the man," Martin announces as he rises from his chair. "Those are for you to change into," he motions to the bundle set on the table. "Get some rest."

Just as he is about to turn the door handle, I call his name. He looks over his shoulder at me.

"Thank you," I say. "For everything."

The priest accepts the gratitude with a nod and small smile before leaving. I don't waste any time following Martin's requests and, even with the hindrance of my injuries, am changed and lying on the blanket situated in the corner of the library floor within minutes, more than ready to fall into the peaceful arms of sleep.


	10. Voice of the Emperor

Days pass, most of them spent sleeping or eating. Eventually, I am able to rise to my feet without flares of pain jolting every nerve. The violent growling of my stomach is what wakes me this particular night and I head in search of food. Judging by how far down the wicks of the candles around me are, as well as the hushed atmosphere, I know it is either very late or very early.

The Great Hall is deserted, with the dim fire only lighting the area immediately surrounding it and casting the rest of the hall in thick shadow. Sadly, the large pot usually hanging over the fire is missing and my stomach groans in disappointment. My eyes scan the room a moment as I try to work out where I can scavenge food at this hour. There is nobody around to ask, unless I talk to one of the sentries outside. I hesitate, not ready to face Bruma's bitter climate just yet and worried such triviality may be considered a waste of their time.

I begin to wander the temple in search of anyone else that may be awake, heading firstly to the West Wing. As the large wooden door leading to the wing opens, I catch the murmur of voices, happy to ignore them until the use of my name seizes my interest. I freeze to listen, but am too far away to hear properly. I cup my ear to ascertain the location of the voices and follow them upstairs, towards the Grandmaster's bedroom. The guard usually stationed between the bedrooms of Jauffre and Martin is nowhere to be seen, alluding to the seriousness of the conversation of whoever is inside.

Butterflies flit around my stomach at the thought of eavesdropping and I glance behind me to ensure nobody is coming. Reaching the top of the stairs, I lean against the wall, not getting too near in case the bedroom door suddenly opens. I recognise the voices as Jauffre and Martin.

"It's dangerous, Martin!" The Grandmaster's tone has difficulty maintaining its respect as it cautions the heir.

"Why?"

"Have you forgotten who she is-_what_ she is?"

The words sting and my shoulders droop a little in the shame ever lurking beneath the surface, needing no more than a gentle nudge to resurface.

"She is the Hero of Kvatch!" comes Martin's angry reply. "She delivered the Amulet of Kings to you, rescued me, closed two Oblivion Gates, as well as cleaned every last sodding inch of this place-"

"And she is a Mythic Dawn acolyte who secured the death of hundreds of civilians," Jauffre states, cutting off the eventual Emperor's words. "_You're_ civilians!"

Martin's tone turns dark. "I'm fully aware of that, Jauffre," he replies after a lengthy silence.

"Forgive my blunt words, Your Highness, but you're letting recent events blind you from the truth. She _is _dangerous."

"I am sure you are more than fully aware of my own past; I do not see any qualms over that-or is that because you have no choice?"

"Your past misdemeanours hardly match hers," replies Jauffre, his words echoing earlier sentiments made by me. "And, whatever your history, there is no mistaking your honourable intentions now."

"What of Linny's?" Martin counters. "Surely she has shown more than enough intent to redeem herself?"

A deep sigh before the Grandmaster continues. "You cannot save every lost soul that crosses your path."

"Perhaps not, but what kind of priest would I be if I didn't at least try?"

The words obviously strike a chord with the older man. After all, how long did he assume the role of Brother Jauffre at Weynon Priory for before I crashed into his life? Jauffre's tone softens.

"I mean no disrespect, Sire; I simply do not trust the girl."

"Which is why she sleeps in the East Wing, not West," Martin states simply. "I am not asking you to trust her, but she offered to help me open the portal to Paradise and, until that is done, or she decides otherwise, I will not turn her away."

I want to hear the rest, but steps approaching the interior of the bedroom door have me fleeing back to the Great Hall. My heart races and all thoughts of hunger are temporarily forgotten. I was never under any illusion that Jauffre held me in great esteem, but to hear him attempting to convert Martin's impression of me so ardently...

Indignant resolve rises within me. I _will_ prove the old bastard wrong! He already knows what I am and what I've done. All there is left to do is show him that I _can_ change, move on from that dreadful past and honour the final request of Uriel Septim.

"_Close shut the jaws of Oblivion!"_

Martin approaches me the next day as I scoop spoonfuls of steaming oatmeal into my mouth, a triumphant expression on his face. Dim sunlight filters through the windows of Cloud Ruler Temple's library, tiny glittering dust particles dancing about in the beams. He parks himself in the seat opposite me before speaking.

"I have some good news, Linny!" he declares, his mood uncharacteristically cheery.

"You do?"

"Yes," he smiles.

His face seems to lose a decade and I find my own mood elevating in response. Since our first meeting, I cannot say I have come to know him as a particularly joyous person. A mischievous humour uncovers itself every now and then, but I've never seen anything like this. I wonder what has changed.

"I've deciphered some more of the ritual," he continues. "It puzzled me exceedingly and I ended up getting so frustrated, that I even turned to Jauffre for help, but he managed to solve it! You see," Martin switches to teaching mode now as I listen intently. "Azura's Star provides the first part of the ritual: blood of the Daedra, but the second is intended to counteract the first: blood of the Divines. This is where I got confused. How do you attain the blood of a god? That is where Jauffre came in. He spoke of a secret passed down from Grandmaster to Grandmaster about Tiber Septim."

"Septim? You mean...?" I ask.

"Yes. If the tales are true I am a descendant of his. He ruled Tamriel centuries ago and earned a place among the Nine Divines for his deeds before and during his reign. Apparently his armour is locked away in a fort called Sancre Tor."

Martin then launches into his tale, recounting the entire life of his ancestor, from his birth in Atmora to his death after a reign of over eighty years. Most of the references to people and places are lost on me, but I still sit enraptured, mainly because of the level of animation his entire body displays as he speaks. It shouldn't surprise me, really-he is a man of the church, after all, and this is a God he's talking about.

"Wow," I eventually breathe. "To think, you're related to a _God_!"

"So the stories say," Martin replies.

I give him a weary look. "You cannot seriously doubt that anymore, can you?"

"It is a big concept to grasp."

"You don't fool me, Martin Septim," I tease. "You are more than happy to use your title when it suits you."

He raises an eyebrow at me before hastily changing the subject. "Well, in any case, I need to move quickly if I'm to retrieve that armour."

I sputter a laugh. "Oh, even you cannot get Jauffre to agree to _that_."

"I know," he concedes with a heavy sigh. "Would be nice to think I could get out of this place for a while, though."

"Until the hordes of oblivion are stopped, there is no way anyone is letting you step a foot outside these walls, because, unless you have your own bastard child hidden somewhere, you are the only one who can wear that amulet."

Martin gives me a roguish look. "You know, it could be possible given my youthful...dabblings."

"Well, until that child comes forward, you will have to settle for sending someone else to-where was it-Sanky...Sankeetor?"

"Sancre Tor," the priest corrects.

We sit for a while in companionable silence whilst I finish my breakfast and he drums his fingers against the table. I try to fathom his thoughts and wonder who he might send. Should I volunteer? Would He-Of-Little-Faith-otherwise known as Grandmaster Jauffre-condone it? I have sworn to prove my loyalty, so what better way than this? I ponder for a few minutes before speaking.

"Would you let me go?"

Martin breaks out of his daydream and studies me. I see a brief flash of hesitance dart across his eyes. Will that be a no? He was happy to send me into a lair of vampires for a relic, so why not for this? I cannot imagine many of the undead residing in a place holding something so holy.

"I don't know, Linny," he responds. "According to Jauffre, those who have tried to explore it have never returned. I worry it may be a little too much for you."

"You're right," I concede, my voice thick with sarcasm. "After closing two Oblivion Gates, I can see how exploring a decrepit old fort may be a challenge."

"Drop the attitude," warns Martin, wagging a finger at me reprovingly. "Or you can forget the Alteration lessons."

"Seriously, Martin," I plead. "I offered to help, so let me."

He rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"You should speak to Jauffre first, find out more about the place before you decide to really go through with it."

"Alright," I agree, dropping my spoon into the empty bowl before me.

"Sancre Tor?" Jauffre seems a little mystified by my interest. "What would you like to know?"

He is currently stood in the armoury, overseeing the training of a couple of Blades. I was hesitant to find him after what I heard the previous night, but he doesn't display any obvious signs of hostility.

"Well, Martin was talking about it and Tiber Septim. I was just interested."

Jauffre sees right through me. "You want to retrieve the armour?"

I nod sheepishly. "I offered, but he told me to speak to you first."

"Linny," I prepare myself for the refusal. "Venturing through that fort is no mean feat. Its exterior is guarded by several of the undead-"

"Vampires?" I gasp, accidentally cutting him off. They are the only undead I know of so far. I dread to think what else there might be.

"No," explains Jauffre, patiently. "These are skeletal warriors, with goodness-knows-what guarding the inside."

"Oh." Perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all.

"You may have faced many Daedra, but the undead are a different breed of enemy altogether. They cannot be killed in the old-fashioned way; you need a particular kind of weapon for that."

I chew the inside of my cheek. Maybe Martin was right; this is too much for me. _Oh, come on, Linny! Where's your sense of adventure?_ Being closely guarded by my sanity, that's where. _Surely any one of these Blades would be willing to escort you; it is to help their Emperor, after all. _After Caroline, I can't bear to put anyone else in that sort of danger simply to aid me. _It's not you they're helping, it's Tamriel._ But they wouldn't need to come, were it not for my ineptitude. _Don't be so bloody self-pitying!_

Jauffre is watching me whilst I continue my internal argument, an odd expression on his face. My quarrels are mute anyway, unless Jauffre does let me go. If not, Martin doesn't seem willing to argue my case this time.

"I want to help," I affirm, although my tone could do with being a little more assertive.

Jauffre stands beside me, introspective for quite some time. "If you are determined, I will not stop you; Martin would only argue anyway. I will, however, need to give a full briefing on the fort and items you'll need to take with you."

That seems fair enough to me and we agree to meet in a few hours. I return to Martin to relay the news.

"If only he had known of my own reservations about this," he remarks. "I would rather you didn't go but, if you must, I don't want you going alone."

"Your faith in me is truly flattering," I quip.

"I just don't want to see you return in the state you did a few days ago," he counters and, for a brief second, a strange look crosses his face.

Martin's fears are assuaged when Baurus attends the briefing, offering his services. Clearly the prospect of exploring a place holding such significance for the Blades is too good an opportunity to miss, even if it does mean helping me. I've not spoken to the Blade since that spy revealed my role in Kvatch and his body language does nothing to solve the enigma; I will have to wait for time to tell if the brief hope of civility between us has been irreparably dashed. Jauffre begins with the history of the relic we wish to retrieve-the armour of Tiber Septim. It is an ancient relic of the first Emperor, bequeathed to the Blades in honor of their role in his victory at the Battle of Sancre Tor. The Blades built a shrine in the catacombs of Sancre Tor, on the spot where Tiber Septim received the blessing of Akatosh. The Armor has been there ever since and the shrine was a place of pilgrimage for all Blades, until it was besieged by evil.

"What evil?" I ask, when his tale is concluded.

"I do not know," Jauffre admits. "The catacombs of were sealed by the first Grandmaster. The four mightiest Blades of Tiber Septim's day, Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar, went to Sancre Tor and never returned."

Baurus, Martin and I glance at one another uneasily and I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. Would anyone blame me for backing out? No, I cannot; I have sworn my services and aim to deliver. Besides, Baurus is going with me and, whatever I may think of him, his battle expertise is undeniable. The rest of the meeting is spent describing the layout of the fort and what we can expect when we enter, although the old man confesses most of his knowledge is based on guesswork, as he has never entered the place himself.

I insist on leaving as soon as possible, before my resolve falters. Jauffre provides me with a new set of light armour-leather, as before-and a silver short sword, as vampires are the only undead normal weapons can slay.

"Linny," Martin hails me in the Great Hall as I prepare to leave.

"Yes?" I turn to face him as I secure the sword belt around my waist.

"Remember the spells you've learned," he says. "From what Jauffre says of this place, I predict they will come in very handy. And _be careful_-you have aknack for finding trouble."

"I cannot promise anything," I reply teasingly. "But will do my best."

**000**

Sancre Tor is located roughly halfway between Cloud Ruler Temple and Weynon Priory. Locating the entrance to the fort, hidden amidst the numerous ruins of stone scattered about the place, seems an impossible task. The aforementioned skeletal warriors only increase the impossibility as arrows fly past and several of the creatures leap towards us wielding longswords and axes. As hoped, Baurus quickly disposes of the soldiers, whilst I concentrate my fireballs on the archers. I am surprised by the ease of the exercise and would love to say it is down to my ever-improving skill, but that would be a downright lie; Baurus is to thank and I know it.

After almost an hour of searching the mulitiple crumbling stone edifices, we eventually locate the entrance to the fort. Using the ancient metal key given to him by Jauffre, Baurus unlocks the door, motioning for me to slowly open it, so he can enter and ensure the way is safe. With a low whistle, he signals for me to follow and I shut the door behind me, handing the key back to him.

An ethereal turquoise glow permeates the corridor and we allow our eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom. As we traverse the winding corridor, we come across several luminous beings floating in the air. Baurus immediately raises his katana into a defensive position, but I gaze in wonder at them, touched by their beauty. My admiration ends when the one closest throws a ball of white magicka our way. We both duck to avoid the attack and the Blade is about to charge the ghostly visage, when I grab his arm.

"Jauffre said normal weapons wouldn't work, remember?" I remind him, before reciprocating the ghost's attack with my own brand of Destruction. The spirit emits a high-pitched shriek of pain before advancing on us. I throw another, but it manages to dodge, falling right into the path of Baurus. He swipes at our opponent and another shriek marks its death, as it shimmers and its particles disperse, leaving behind a slushy pool of grey.

"Jauffre gave you a silver sword, too?"

"Dagger, actually," he replies, holding it out for my inspection.

The commotion has alerted the attention of a couple more ghostly creatures and we ready ourselves for the brawl. Judging by the previous enemy's performance, these beings are deadly, but not too bright, making them easy targets.

A more difficult enemy presents itself when we open the gate to enter a large chamber. Baurus tells me to hide in the shadow while he captures the creature's attention. As soon as it spots him, the massive helmeted skeleton hurtles towards Baurus, wielding a shield and long, elegant blade. It lunges for him and the ring of clashing metals echoes throughout the chamber. The Blade manoeuvres the skeleton until its back is facing me and I leap from my hiding spot to swing at the enemy, beheading-or beskulling- it first time. The bony form instantly collapses into a dusty heap and we both catch our breath.

"Are you alright?" I ask, waving my hand in front of his face when I receive no reply.

His eyes are locked on something behind me and I turn to see a translucent radiance surrounding the mound of bones we have just felled. The radiance starts to solidify into a humanoid form, whilst retaining its transparency, and I gawp helplessly as the ghostly projection of a soldier standing before us.

"I was Rielus," the spirit's unearthly voice is contemplative, yet commanding. "Loyal Blade of Emperor Tiber Septim. I do not know how long I have been dead. It feels like an eternity. I was one of four Blades sent to the catacombs by Tiber Septim to discover the source of the evil infestation. We were captured by the Underking Zurin Arctus, and bound to haunt the catacombs after death. A spell was also put on the passage to the tomb where the armour lies. Approaching it is impossible without freeing all of the Blades."

Leaving us with those words, the spirit turns to walk away. I try to grab its arm, but my hand passes right through. Baurus steps beside me.

"Let's follow; he may lead us to the armour."

Following the path of the ghost as best we can (Rielus has a nasty habit of walking through walls), we enter a massive circular hall. Doors are spaced along the hall's circumference, with a long bridge leading towards a raised platform surrounded by water. Ahead, we see the Blade's ghost kneeling before a diaphanous cloud of aquamarine light. This must be the spell the ghost had spoken of. After a few moments of observation, Baurus and I begin our search for the three remaining undead Blades.

Entering the first door on our right throws us into the path of another skeletal warrior, armed with a large axe. A key, attached to a threadbare rope around its neck, clatters against its ribcage as it advances on us. Baurus finishes it quickly, removing the key before studying it. Neither of us has any idea what it is for, but we decide to hold on to it just in case it proves to be of some value to us. That value is made immediately clear to us when we come across a dead end; the locked door situated in the wall ahead the only means of progress.

As we continue, the barred cells lining the walls either side of us lead me to the conclusion that this area was some sort of a prison once upon a time. A haunting howling of wind follows us as we walk and a chill that has nothing to do with low temperatures runs through me. The Skeletal Blade is ahead of us and, once defeated, we learn he is Valdemar, second of the four Blades trapped in Sancre Tor.

Eventually, Baurus and I complete the extensive task of locating the final two Blades, earning several cuts and bruises for our trouble. The gash decorating Baurus' forehead troubles me most, especially with the amount of blood lost from it.

The four otherworldly soldiers-Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar-kneel before the ghostly barrier, their backs facing us. For a while nothing happens and I glance warily at Baurus, but his eyes never leave the Blades. The sight must hold great significance for him, seeing the huge sacrifice these men made for their order-_his_ order. During our first meeting, I took an instant dislike to the crotchety, red-skinned man but, the more I get to know him, the more respect I gain for him-even if he wishes my leap off Cloud Ruler Temple had been successful. I know now that much of his acrimony towards me is bred from his duty to protect his masters.

As I glance back at the deceased Blades, I see the vaporous obstruction start to fade, until it disappears completely, revealing a long path ahead. The four ghosts rise, but remain in place as Baurus and I head towards the tomb awaiting us.

The armour of Tiber Septim sits reverently atop a small octagonal stone pedestal. To look at, the armour does not strike me as anything special, but it seems to carry a weighty presence and I cannot help but sigh in admiration at finally laying my eyes on the relic. Baurus steps forward to retrieve the armour, placing it in a large sack before hoisting the sack's handle over his shoulder.

Exiting the tomb, we see the four Blades still holding the positions in which we left them. One of the ethereal apparitions, Alain, who we found in the fort's catacombs, steps forward with a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he says, his quiet, melodic voice filtering through the air like feathers in the wind. "You have freed us from our torment, for which we shall be ever grateful. We go now, finally at peace, to enter Aetherius, where our curse shall be lifted for all eternity."

Alain steps back to rejoin his comrades and, in unison, they all throw their heads back to face the ceiling, their palms outstretched as a beatific smile graces each countenance. Their glowing forms start to fade and eventually disappear, leaving Baurus and I alone in the Entry Hall.

My mind takes a while to absorb the proceedings. I slowly turn my face to Baurus and see his expression mirroring my own, although his eyes are wide.

"To the end of my days," he says, his voice brimming with reverence and awe. "Nothing I achieve shall ever match this."

His glassy gaze informs me I have lost him for now and it would be unfair of me to interrupt such a momentous occasion for him, so I stand and patiently wait. Eventually coherence returns to the Blade and, with a quick shake of his head, we start the journey back to the fort's entrance.

"I'm glad you came with me," I tell him as the hazy afternoon air embraces us, uncertain what his reaction to my gratitude will be.

"Believe me," Baurus says as he locks the entrance to Sancre Tor. "After what we witnessed, the pleasure is all mine."

I watch the Blade, still mystified by his estimation of me. There have been no overt displays of hostility, which could be a good sign, but the words exchanged as we ventured through Sancre Tor are the most conversation we've had since embarking on this mission. Patience is a virtue, so they say. Right now, that is a phrase I have a hard time believing.

**000**

Pale blue slowly rises from the horizon, subtly merging with the indigo of night to signal the arrival of dawn, as Baurus and I climb the steps of the Blades' fortress. The unusually clear sky is not unwelcome, as the past few weeks have had a constant curtain of snowflakes falling from the now scarce clouds stationed above.

"Here," says Baurus, offering the sack containing Tiber Septim's armour to me as we enter the Great Hall. "Tell Martin to be careful with it."

I nod and take the handle from him before he heads towards the West Wing. The weight of the armour is immense; I don't know how he managed to carry it so far! The faint glow of daybreak is not enough to relieve the omnipresent gloom of the hall and I initially walk past the sleeping form slumped in a chair surrounded by several book-laden tables, doing a double-take when my mind acknowledges what my eyes just saw.

I step closer to discover the form is actually Martin, his chin resting against his chest as his head rises and falls with the steady breathing of slumber. The image brings a smile to my face and I move closer, quietly dropping the sack on the small circular table nearest me. His left arm hangs limply at his side and I retrieve the book lying open on the floor beneath his dangling fingers. After placing it on the large table before him, I study Martin's still face. Even in sleep, his face is lined with angst; I cannot imagine how much of a burden this colossal task must be for him. A few months ago, he was a humble priest and now he is the heir to an empire, trying to stem the tide of evil threatening to engulf it. My chest feels heavy under the weight of the sympathy I carry. The irony that someone so reluctant to carry the role is perfect for it doesn't escape me, even though the motivation to do so well is probably born from his desperate need to help others, rather than honouring the title.

I crouch beside his chair and spend several minutes simply watching him. It seems that even in sleep, he cannot fully forget his troubles, as frowns frequently cross his brow. Without even realising what I am doing, my hand extends to lightly brush away the tendrils of hair hanging in front of his eyes, before caressing his forehead with my fingers. What exactly I hope to achieve with the gesture, I don't know, but it seems to alleviate some of the tension, as the recurrent frown disappears and he lets out a soft sigh.

I know that chair cannot be comfortable and, as content as he seems sleeping in it, only utter exhaustion would have enabled him to do so. My hand falls from his face to his shoulder to give a gentle shake. A few murmurs leave his lips and his body shifts position slightly, but he fails to wake. I shake a little harder this time, and his eyelids flutter. Progress, I suppose. I call his name as I nudge him a third time and the lids reluctantly open.

"Good morning," I say with a smile as his eyes finally find mine.

"Mmm...whtimeist?" is his sleep addled response as he rubs a hand over his yawning face.

"Pardon?"

Martin slowly straightens in his chair and runs a hand through his hair to chase away the last remnants of sleepiness, before attempting to speak a second time.

"I asked what the time was." His voice is still thick with drowsiness.

"Dawn," I reply, pushing a few books out of the way to perch on the edge of the table.

He looks around the room and I cannot help but find it endearing to watch him fight off the clingy stupor. After extending his arms forwards to stretch, he looks around the room.

"Have you been up all night reading again?" I ask.

"The Xarxes won't decipher itself," he replies.

"You're always telling me to rest. You should start following your own counsel."

"My task is somewhat less perilous than yours," he remarks. "Speaking of which, did you get the armour?"

"Yes I did," I affirm, smiling with pride. "And not a limb broken!"

Martin laughs. "Well done."

"Thank you, although Baurus is the one who deserves the praise, really," I admit.

"Then I shall have to thank him. Now," Martin's eyes dart around searchingly. "Where is the armour?"

"Oh no," I say, imitating one of his famous finger wagging gestures. "No armour until you have some decent sleep in a proper bed."

"We don't have time-"

"The world won't end in a couple of hours," I interrupt. "And if it does, you are only half way through deciphering that ritual, so there is no way you could have stopped it, anyway."

Martin throws a half-hearted glare my way before his eyes find the sack beside me. Quick as a flash, he leaps out of the chair, his arm stretching to clasp the handle.

"Hey-" I manage to grab his wrist and yank the sack from his fingers, but, as I slide off the table, his free hand wraps around mine. I teasingly hold the sack of armour behind my back and try to pull away. He makes several attempts to reach round for it, but I just about manage to swing it out of his way.

"Linny," Martin growls, aiming to be authoritative, but the smile tugging at the corner of his lips ruins the effect. "As your Emperor, I order you to hand me the armour."

"Ha," I counter, as he once again yanks me closer to grab the sack. Once again, the attempt is thwarted. "You've had no coronation yet and I'm no Blade, so I do not have to obey."

"I could use The Voice of The Emperor on you," he warns.

"What's that?"

"A spell to make you do whatever I want," he replies with a wicked grin.

"You wouldn't dare!" I challenge.

His face leans nearer. "Wouldn't I?"

I give a gasp of mock outrage, but he isn't smiling now. My own smile fades as he stares at me with those mysterious caesious orbs and I cannot describe the expression swimming within them. I find my own emerald eyes unable to break contact as a tug at my arm brings me even closer, pressing our bodies together. His head leans further towards mine and I feel his warm breath brush against my face. My breathing starts to become irregular as I wonder if he _was_ being serious. Is there such a spell and would he really use it on me? His face is mere inches away and I feel the hand holding mine (which still grips his wrist) loosen and slip around my waist. My mind screams in panic and my pulse races, but I cannot seem to find the will to move as his fingers slowly tip-toe across my hip and down my arm until...

"You cheeky bastard!" I yell as the sack jerks out of my grasp.

I take a swing at him, but he dances out of range, his guffaws reverberating off the walls of the Great Hall. He stops a few feet away, holding up the sack with a smugly triumphant grin.

"That's cheating," I accuse, crossing my arms as I try to regain my composure. My heart is still thudding wildly against my ribcage.

"Sore loser," tuts Martin, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

In the end I settle for poking my tongue out at him; immature, I know, but the only response I can think of.

"Now, now," he chuckles, stepping closer.

I turn my face away, eliciting more chuckles from him. His footsteps come closer and, through the corner of my eye, I see him waving his hand to attract my attention. I do my best to ignore it, tapping my foot on the floor. He starts calling my name with each step and my mouth twists to keep from betraying my mirth. He stops before me, his head ducking and diving as I try to avoid his gaze. Eventually the giggles erupt from my lips and I smack his arm.

"You're such a git!" I admonish. "I was being serious, you know! You need rest. What good would it be if you're just about to light the Dragonfires, when you collapse from exhaustion?"

"Alright, alright," Martin concedes with a sigh. "If it makes you happy, I shall go to bed like a good boy."

I scowl at his derision.

"I mean it," he says, holding a hand up in surrender. "I'll go straight to my quarters right now."

"Hand over the armour," I demand.

"Linny," he gripes.

"I know what you're bloody like; if you take it with you, the temptation will be far too strong and you'll never get any rest, so hand it over."

His eyes narrow, but I stare back defiantly; although, for some reason, my eyes can't quite bring themselves to meet his.

"Fine," he says, reluctantly handing back the sack of armour, an action that proves just how tired he really is.

"Sleep well," I coo as he walks away.

He replies with a dismissive wave of his hand as he disappears into the West Wing. I stand there, my mind a little dizzy from processing what just happened. To be honest, I am still none the wiser; all I know is it will take a while for the peculiar stirring in my stomach to settle.


	11. Distraction

**A/N:**** Yay, a review, finally! Lol. At least I know people _are_ enjoying the story :) Thanks again to my beta, who is feeling a bit poorly right now, so I hope you feel better soon, Frenetic-Kinetic.**

* * *

_Silhouettes danced in front of the dreamy jade eyes of the young woman, as she languidly wiggled her fingers in front of the torchlight illuminating the chamber. At that moment the pale, golden halo outlining them seemed to be the most fascinating thing she had ever seen and the activity passed an immeasurably long amount of time, until a gentle pressure touched the small of her back to extract a shiver of pleasure. The brief, feather-light caresses continued teasingly up her spine and she closed her eyes, halos of torchlight forgotten. A firmer pressure kissed against the nape of her neck before a soft whisper blew warm breath into her left ear._

"_You should sleep," the silky voice urged._

"_I can't," she eventually replied, somewhat distracted by the kisses running from her ear lobe down to her shoulder._

"_Why is that, my dear?"_

_She was hesitant to answer, worried the response would be interpreted as a sign of weakness. After all, the past nine years of her life had been leading up to the events that would unfold in a matter of hours. The blessed day her master so zealously promised to his acolytes was so close, she could almost taste it and he absolutely forbade _anything_ to distract focus from it. Would her motivations for insomnia tonight be seen as a distraction?_

"_Linny?"_

_The kisses had ceased and she knew she couldn't withhold the answer any longer._

"_I don't want this moment to end."_

_She waited for his reaction, her stomach knotting with apprehension as she fiddled with a corner of the soft blanket covering them. A hand repositioned her face, forcing her to look over her shoulder at him and into those beautiful, enigmatic eyes._

"_You have a dangerous task ahead of you, full of uncertainty." The sound of his magnetic voice was intoxicating. "The journey shall be perilous and you shall be pushed to the very limits-both physically and mentally-but, even when it seems all is lost, always remember your reward: Paradise." His face moved even closer to hers, his lips granting hers the merest of touches. "And in Paradise, I shall be waiting."_

_His mouth captured hers in a slow, passionate kiss, his fingers entwining in her hair as he positioned himself on top of her. To spend the rest of eternity in a realm with him, like this-it was too great a notion to even comprehend. But even that didn't seem like long enough. The fire he ignited within her was almost unbearable at times and she knew no passage of time would be long enough to extinguish it._

_His lips slowly began to trace the line of her jaw, pausing at her chin, before moving down to the hollow of her throat. His tongue made slow, lazy circles, making her breath hitch. His mouth travelled round to the side of her neck, where he began nibbling and kissing the soft flesh. It was his favourite part of her body, mainly because of the feelings and sounds it aroused when he gave it his full attention. With one hand still cradling the back of her head, his other slid down her body to guide her leg around his waist, before trailing his fingers from the back of her knee up to her hip. He teased her for a while, fingertips tickling around her belly button before finally lowering his hand to stroke her inner thigh. She arched against him, moans interrupting her heavy breathing. His forefinger moved further upwards with a pace that infuriated her patience and her mind screamed at him to slake her lust. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally acquiesced to her wishes and pushed his finger into her. She threw her head back with a cry of pleasure as her hands gripped either side of her pillow and his mouth once again found hers, turning the breathless cries to low moans._

_There were no words worthy of describing what he did to her, how he made her feel, how much she wanted him-_needed_ him. She would do her duty, prove herself to be the loyal servant worthy of the praise and expectations her master bestowed upon her, but dedication to the cause wasn't her motivation, the true incentive was her love for the man currently bringing her to a delicious climax. Whatever the outcome, whether Dagon won or lost, whether Oblivion or Tamriel reigned supreme, nothing mattered to her as long as she had _him_: her love, her life, her very reason for being, Mankar Camoran._

_Linny opened her eyes to allow her gaze to fall upon his golden face in this perfect moment, but something about that beautiful countenance was wrong, for the eyes that looked down at her were no longer vibrant scarlet, but a cool, greyish-blue._

**000**

"Your eyes will wear a hole into that page if you stare at it much longer."

The voice crashes through my daydream like shattering glass and I look up at the owner.

"Sorry, what?" I ask stupidly as Caroline smiles back at me.

She seats herself beside me at the wooden table loaded with books. The one before me is titled 'Glories and Laments Among the Ayleid Ruins' and I've had the same page open for almost an hour now.

"Never mind," says Caroline good-naturedly. "I can see you're miles away right now. I'll speak to you later."

"Do not take it personally," advises Martin, looking up briefly from his own reading material. "She has been like that all day."

My cheeks flush a little and I close the book to give the Blade the full attention she deserves. "I'm really sorry," I apologise. "I don't mean to be rude."

At my insistence, Caroline resumes her tale of closing the latest Oblivion Gate to plague Bruma. She glows with pride at her accomplishment as she describes the quest in minute detail and I force my brain to concentrate. As Martin said, my mind has been wandering all day and, in truth, my bookwormery is meant to be a means of distraction, although it is clearly failing. The dream that's plagued me for the past three nights is now harrassing me whilst I'm awake and, although disturbing recurrent dreams are nothing new, this one is particularly troubling. Normally I would share my nightmares and visions with the priest and we'd spend hours analysing them, trying to decipher their meaning, but I can barely even admit to _myself_ I had this one, let alone Martin. And I don't even _want_ to know the meaning behind it.

So, here I am trying to help the heir work out the next item needed for opening the portal to..._His_ Paradise. We have almost succeeded, or at least Martin has-my time has been spent chasing away smutty flashbacks. It is something to do with the Ayleids and I grabbed the first book I could find with a title containing that word.

I kick myself, once again, back to the present, as Caroline's tale concludes. Having so many gates open so near is worrying to say the least. How long can each city hold their defences against such evil? The urgency of the situation is affecting everyone nowadays, with even the normally cool-headed woman beside me giving in to moments of angst.

"I am glad you weren't hurt," I say sincerely. "But that's probably because I wasn't around."

"Probably," Caroline agrees with a wink and a smile. "Well, sentry duty calls, so I shall leave the pair of you to your research."

I wave goodbye as she stands, heading towards the Temple's main entrance doors. Martin is too engrossed in the Mysterium Xarxes to notice her departure and I begin flicking aimlessly through the pages of my own book until an exultant "A-hah" has me nearly jumping out of my skin.

"For goodness sake, Martin," I scold, placing a hand over my chest to ensure my heart doesn't burst through my ribs. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry." His embarrassment at the outburst is soon overtaken by excitement. "I know what we need, Linny."

His face lights up in the same way it did when he told me about Tiber Septim.

"What we need," he begins. "Is a Great Welkynd Stone."

My face is blank and Martin inhales deeply. I feel another history lesson coming on. Not that I mind; with a different lecturer, it would almost be enough to make me forget about the dream, but with Martin the one giving the lesson, all I can see are those damned blue orbs capturing mine with their incessant enthusiasm on the subject. I am not sure I possess the will to keep my mind focussed on the words leaving his mouth. _What are you doing? Don't look at his mouth!_

My inner struggle has to be painted on my face as Martin stops speaking suddenly, brow furrowed in concern.

"Linny, are you alright?" he asks, placing a hand on my arm.

"I...uh..." I falter, my addled mind trying to remember speech. "I-I'm fine...I just...I don't..." The temperature in the temple seems to have warmed considerably and I impatiently brush my hair back from my face, which is surely turning a delicate shade of beetroot. "It's hot in here, I need some air."

I jump up from my chair, but stumble in my haste, almost crashing face first to the wooden floor. Martin races from his own seat, ready to help me up, but I brush him off with countless reassurances that I am fine. I walk to the doors as quickly as I can without running, leaving the heir stood in the middle of the Great Hall looking as perplexed as I had been moments ago.

The moment Bruma's icy wind hits my face, I feel better, or perhaps it is just that I am no longer in Martin's presence. I start pacing the Temple courtyard, inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm myself before sitting on the stone steps situated between two large flaming torches. What is _wrong_ with me? No other dream has affected me this much before, and some have been particularly nasty, so why should one seemingly so innocent (although somewhat indecent) be able to turn me into a befuddled mess?

Forget about it, that's the best thing to do, ignore it and the flashbacks will fade, just like the others. _But you can't forget about it. _Mentally conversing with myself wouldn't be half as bad if the voice offered some _useful_ advice every once in a while! A proper distraction-that's what I need-but where to find one?

As my brain ticks over, I stare out at the sprawling landscape. Bruma has been granted a rare clear spell of weather over the past week, with the dense blanket of thick, grey cloud dispersing to allow the town below a brief experience of sunshine. As a consequence, the temperature has risen a little, whilst remaining low enough to leave a layer of white covering every surface, glistening brilliantly beneath the sun's golden rays.

Beautiful as it is, the scenery fails to retain my attention and I am forced to ponder alternative distractions. There is one thing I can think of that would work, but it requires conversing with the very reason I seek distraction in the first place. _Might be a good opportunity to practice _ignoring_ the flashbacks._ Yes, thank you, oh Wise-Voice-In-My-Head! Arguing with myself cannot be a good thing. I growl at my own nonsensicality before standing. Infuriatingly, the voice is right, so I turn and, with a determined stride, walk back into the Temple.

**000**

"Linny? Linny, speak to me!"

"Uunnnnnngrrrhhhhh..."

The landscape spins around my head as I am hefted into a sitting position. My brain feels as though it is being torn in two as a loud ringing resonates through my eardrums. I cannot remember how I ended up in this position and look up dazedly at the man crouched before me, my head cradled between his hands as he studiously examines each of my eyes. Recognition of those amber orbs settles in as my memory gradually returns.

The three images of Baurus swirl about each other before finally merging into one solid form and limited coherence allows me to speak.

"What...happened?" I ask, my speech still rather slurred.

"We were attacked," the Blade replies as he concludes his assessment of my condition. "Can you stand?"

"I –I think so," I reply, grasping his outstretched hand for leverage. "What attacked us?"

"A bear."

My jaw hangs open in surprise. "A _bear_? And I was worried about the goblins!"

My response draws a small chuckle from Baurus as he scans our surroundings. The sun is blazing down on us, its warmth a welcome reprieve from Bruma's perpetual cold. It seems a shame that such a glorious day must be spent skulking around an underground ruin. Why had I volunteered for this task again? I decide not to answer that question, instead focusing my attention on said task.

Satisfied that all potential enemies have been disposed of, Baurus walks through the large stone arch stood majestically before us and I follow as he heads up the steps leading to a large, circular platform. The ruin's entrance sits at the bottom of a winding flight of stone steps and I follow my guide, throwing the sun a farewell glance as we enter the murky nadir of Miscarand.

This place breathes an ominous ambience similar to that of Sancre Tor, although the connotations of holy reverence contained within the fort are replaced by an air of malice in this ruin. My eyes barely pierce the gloom and I search my bag for one of the wooden stakes I decided to pack, all too familiar with the aversion these places have for torches. With a quick murmur, a ball of flame leaves my palm to ignite the tip of the stake and I hand it to Baurus, who has assumed his habitual role of leader.

We proceed carefully, Jauffre's and Martin's warnings about Miscarand's dangerous reputation ringing in my ears. As we reach an opening leading to an elevated walkway, the echoes of battle greet us and Baurus pins me back against the wall with an outstretched arm before extinguishing the torch. I look over his shoulder as he peers round the corner, but the sounds seem far away to me and I cannot see anyone coming towards us.

"What is it?" I whisper, irritated by the restriction of his barricading arm. Honestly, I know better than to rush headlong into danger without assessing the situation first. At least, I do nowadays.

"I don't know," he answers, lowering his overprotective limb and unsheathing his sword. "I cannot see anyone, but suggest we advance _very_ carefully."

I nod in agreement before unsheathing my own weapon as Baurus motions for me to crouch, the tempo of my heartbeat quickening with each step. Although the snarls and cries of anger and pain continue to reverberate off the walls, we discover the noise is coming from below (rather than ahead) and lower ourselves onto our bellies to look over the edge at the bizarre scene playing out before our eyes: lumbering, mutilated corpses and nimble, skeletal warriors battling with savage, axe-wielding goblins. What they are fighting for is a mystery to me-territory, perhaps? I pray we won't have to cross that lower level, as it is a hazard I would much rather avoid. According to Martin, this ruin will take at least a couple of days to explore. My insides knot fretfully. With any luck, trusting Baurus' more than my own, the creatures will kill each other off quickly and we can proceed in relative safety.

My companion watches the fight intently and I wonder at the thoughts running through his mind right now. Sometimes the Blade reminds me of a cat or some other graceful predator studying an enemy, learning its attacks, locating its weaknesses. Part of me wishes I could be like that, but the other would rather I didn't have to be. It is much better not knowing how to fight, as it would mean you were someone who had no reason to. To me, living such a care free life sounds like a blissful, impossible dream.

My innocent reverie is broken by Baurus urging us to continue and we return to our crouching positions, leaving the goblins and the undead to their violent brawl.

Ah, remotely locked gates, how I loathe thee. Forewarning about such things would have been extremely useful at the very least and my hand is fully loaded to greet Martin with a slap when I next see him. Not once during the long history lesson or countless warnings had he mentioned them and they are obviously a beloved feature of Ayleid architecture, because they are everywhere! And if someone can tell me the purpose of positioning the activation blocks so far away from the gates, I shall gladly offer them a lifetime of servitude.

It took hours for Baurus and I to find the first one and even longer to find our way back to the elevated pathway, but we eventually managed to enter the next part of the ruin. Thankfully, enemies have been very few and far between, probably still caught up in their own battles. My feet ache as I hide in the shadows, lying on a rough, thick blanket in the corner of a small chamber. The whispering wind gently caresses my skin and plays with the strands of silvery blonde hair that have escaped my ponytail. I shiver; not from the cold, but the eerie atmosphere radiating from every inch of the place. Was Miscarand always like this, even in its heyday, or are centuries of neglect to blame?

The gentle humming of Baurus cuts through the silence and I look over at him, sat with his back to me. The noise doesn't bother me, as sleep is far too elusive at the moment, so I settle for listening to the tune. It takes a while for me to catch the melody, but when I do, despite being slightly off-key, I find it quite pleasant to listen to.

I had volunteered for first watch but, he insisted, probably due to trust issues, but I do not hold it against him: I've given the man more than enough reason to be wary of me. Once again, I am wondering about his _real _opinion of me. I want to ask, but am terrified of the answer. Despite all our altercations, I have grown to respect and, dare I say, even admire Baurus for his bravery and honour. Much as I hate to admit it, his good opinion _does_ matter to me and gaining it will be a huge milestone indeed.

My observation is soon noted, because his gaze falls past his shoulder to rest on me.

"Try to sleep, Linny," he urges quietly.

"I am," I reply.

"You needn't worry," he reassures. "I'm keeping watch."

"I know. Just a little restless, I suppose."

Baurus sits in quiet contemplation for a moment, before rotating his body ninety degrees anti-clockwise, so that his left side, rather than his back, is facing me. The dim turquoise light throws harsh shadows across his features, making it hard for me to read his expression.

"From what I have seen recently," he begins. "I assume the magic lessons with Martin are going well?"

Stunned silence is the only reply I can give. For weeks, we have barely said more than a couple of sentences to one another and this sudden pleasantry from him leaves me dumbstruck. The perplexity in my face educes a small, rueful chuckle from him.

"Linny, I know I haven't been the most...loquacious companion of late," he remarks, his ochre gaze fixed on the wall opposite. "I apologise for that. After discovering your involvement in Kvatch-" The name sends a cold shiver down my spine. "I needed time to..." He takes a moment to find the right words, rubbing a hand across his face. "To..._process _everything. It was another case of proving me right before proving me wrong again. I still have trouble reconciling the two halves of you, Linny. It's getting easier, but you still remain the most infuriating conundrum I have ever come across."

Absorbing his words, I lever myself up into a sitting position, my eyes not quite able to meet his. It seems I have been granted the explanation I so desperately wanted, but what to do with it? Should I apologise once more? There are no words capable of conveying my regret for all my responsibility, so I decide to forgo the apology.

"Don't be sorry," I say, fiddling distractedly with the corner of my blanket as the words leave my mouth before I can realise what I am actually saying. "I don't deserve any kind of apology from anyone-least of all you-and that's not self-pity talking; I'm simply stating a fact. I would tell you again how sorry I am for what I've done, but it couldn't possibly do my remorse any justice and actions speak louder than words. That's why I am here. Although I cannot reverse past misdemeanours, I can help stem the tide of evil to prevent future destruction. I want to do anything and everything possible to help." My voice lowers as I utter the next sentence. "It won't be enough to earn forgiveness, but at least it is a step in the right direction."

The silence following my speech stretches for what feels like an age and I eventually gather enough resolve to look up at my companion. He is watching me intently and I wonder if he has been like that the entire time. His intense, silent gaze soon makes me uncomfortable. _Just say something, damn it,_ my mind begs, but his lack of clairvoyance is made obvious by his continued silence. The thudding of my pulse is deafening against my eardrums and my limbs start to tingle with the illogical desire of flight. If he won't speak, the least he can do is release me from his unnerving stare. Eventually the agonising hush is broken.

"Forgiveness may not be as far away as you think, Linny."

Baurus then turns away, his back facing me once more as his words collide with the force of a lightning bolt. For no discernible reason, my eyes fill with moisture before tears roll silently down my cheeks. All manner of emotions battle inside me and I cannot coordinate myself enough to do anything other than lie back down, as my thoughts fly haphazardly in a multitude of directions, failing to find any fixed subject or theme as time and the Blade's humming continue. It is a long time before my view of the surroundings is replaced by the murky veil of fitful slumber.

**000**

"_You're sending me away?" She tried to mask the panic bubbling inside. The thought of questioning his motives felt like blasphemy, but surely this was a mistake? She was his most loyal disciple, an elite agent of the Mythic Dawn. She would follow her master to the ends of the earth, do anything for him, give her life for him-yet here he was, excluding her from the very battle that would grant them everything the Mythic Dawn had worked so hard to achieve. _

"_Linny-"_

"_Master," she interrupted. Were she in possession of her full sanity, Linny would be mortified at the thought of doing such a thing, but desperation was making her reckless. "Please, let me fight at your side. We need everyone to help realise the dream of Lord Dagon. I am your best agent, Master; you said so yourself. I am no good to anyone sitting on the other side of the world, I want to help my brothers and sisters, I want-"_

"_Morlinna," Mankar's tone was severe and immediately ceased Linny's protests. The young woman stood desolately before him and he let out a small sigh. Holding her face between his hands, his tone softened. "My dear Linny, if only everyone held the same amount of love and belief that you do. Trust me; it is no mere errand that I send you on and you are the only one I can trust with this task."_

_Her face brightened a little at that, but disappointment still lingered. She listened intently, though, as he relayed the details of her mission. She was to find a traitor amongst the Order currently hiding in the Imperial City. Her eyes widened in shock at the distressing news. A traitor? The notion made her blood boil and she swore that the man would pay for his deceit, the images of all the suffering she would make him endure somewhat placating her discontent._

"_Find him, Linny," Mankar said, his face only a few inches from hers. "Find that Dunmer bastard and make him pay!"_

"_Yes, Master," she replied dutifully before his lips pressed against hers, erasing all thoughts from her mind._

**000**

Blinding bright light engulfs my vision, but I cannot tear my eyes from the majestic beauty of the shimmering, turquoise crystal sat atop an ornate metal stand: the Great Welkynd Stone. I eventually have to shield my eyes from the object's radiance when they start to water from the strength of its light, before stepping forward to retrieve the treasure. It is easily as long as my forearm and requires both of my hands to remove it. It weighs a ton and, noting my struggle, Baurus gallantly offers to carry it in his bag for me-an offer I graciously accept.

Before I can declare my joy at our success, a flash of light catches my attention, followed by a holler of pain from Baurus. He falls to the ground, his face contorted in agony and I crouch beside him, bewildered by what just happened. A snarl of fury from behind has me spinning to face a hideous creature clad in tattered, burgundy robes and a rusted metal helmet. Before I can defend myself, it swings a gnarled, wooden staff that connects with my left arm, slicing into the skin. Blood sprays from the wound and I join Baurus on the stone ground. Two more figures join the first attacker, their shambling movements a stark contrast to the swift grace of the helmeted warrior.

I roll to avoid a clubbing of the head as the first assailant smashes its staff against the ground and I scramble to my feet before unsheathing my short sword. Before I can raise it, however, rotting limbs encircle me, pinning my arms to my sides and I thrash with all my might to escape the zombie's hold. It attacks my right eardrum with a garbled holler of frustration as the second zombie advances.

Ahead, I see the robed creature looming over Baurus, staff poised, ready to strike. The red-skinned Blade manages to block the onslaught with his own sword just in time, before thrusting a foot into its gut. My view is soon blocked by the gruesome face of the second zombie as it swipes a clawed hand across my face. Intense stinging blazes across my left cheek as my anterior assailant stumbles with the momentum of its attack. I use it to my advantage, pushing off the ground with my feet and leaning back against the zombie clutching me to land a kick in the jaw of the undead wretch before me. It collapses to the ground with a cry, as does its companion, thrown off balance by the force of my push. I manage to jostle out of its arms and leap to my feet, before spinning around and slicing my blade clean through its neck. The other zombie is about to climb to its feet, but I deliver stab after stab, until the creature ceases all movement.

Clashes of steel against wood have me turning to see Baurus engaged in a violent tussle against the staff-wielding menace. The bag carrying the Great Welkynd Stone lays discarded on the ground and I race towards it, unsure of what I should do next. I want to assist Baurus, but worry about being more hindrance than help. I wince, seeing the barbarity of the creature's attacks that my companion is barely able to block. That thing must be the King of Miscarand that Martin spoke of and its mission is clearly to protect the stone we wish to pilfer. A plan forms in my mind.

Hefting the bag over my shoulder, I rush past the two combatants, getting as close to the king as I can be without getting in range of its staff. The plan works as its focus immediately shifts to me. With a furious, high-pitched roar, it charges towards me, ejecting a bolt of white energy from the staff. My dodge comes a fraction too late as the bolt hits my already injured bicep. I scream in agony, before landing face first on the ground, my vision blurring from the tears of pain welling in my eyes. More howls sound from behind and I instinctively cover my head with my arms-the only defence I have left.

Hands clutch mine and I fight to get away from my assailant, limbs thrashing as I struggle to escape the creature's clutches. My exertions cause my left arm to blaze with fiery pain and warm, calloused hands grip my wrists, before a voice calls my name.

"Linny, calm down, it's me, it's Baurus!"

I cease my struggle and look up into the face of the Blade. In sheer desperate relief, my arms fly around his neck and I hug him tightly, gratitude flooding from every pore. After a moment of hesitation, I feel his arms wrap around me to return the embrace. Once I have regained my composure, I relinquish my hold and wipe my tears away. With clear vision, I see the right side of his face is caked in blood.

"Oh, Baurus," I cry. "What happened?"

"That bastard lich king cracked me with his staff," he explains, his voice a little groggy. "He came off worse, though."

He looks past me and I twist to see the still form of the King of Miscarand lying a few feet away, its staff lying in the palm of its right hand. Beyond it are the bodies of the zombies I managed to slay, but I cannot bear observing the scene for more than a minute, before turning back to my companion. He may not be complaining, yet I can tell his injuries are bad, so the sooner he gets healed, the better. Before I can speak I notice the worried frown puckering his forehead. Gently gripping my chin, he moves my head to get a better look at the scratches adorning my left cheek.

"Did one of those zombies do that?" he asks.

I nod and the worry on his features increases.

"They may be infected," he says, answering my unasked question. "My Restoration is a little basic, so, unless you know any spells to cure disease, I suggest we get out of here."

I could not agree more.

It seems Baurus' worries about infection are justified, as my condition deteriorates drastically after leaving Miscarand and he insists we head towards the nearest city, Skingrad. I find it a little bizarre to have the man who once bore such malice towards me so fretful about my health now. By the time we reach the large city, I can barely walk and cling to Baurus' side for support. I feel so weak and tired as the bright sunlight burns my irises. The city itself is very large and the time it takes to reach our intended destination, the Great Chapel of Julianos, seems to stretch for eternity.

Had I the strength, I would ask why we need to visit such a place, but it was an effort just to remain upright. In the chapel, we are greeted by a rather supercilious man named Valandrus Abor and I pray he is not the chapel's healer. A hefty dose of the indecorous manner Baurus used to save especially for me soon rids us of the Primate's company. A young woman named Marie Palielle greets us with a much more amiable reception. Although she asks a great deal of questions, Baurus refuses to grant her too much detail on our exploits, allowing only enough information to heal us.

My puzzlement at why we are visiting this chapel is alleviated when I receive the Restoration of the altar and I cannot even begin to describe how good it feels. The healing I've received from myself and Martin is nothing in comparison and I leave the chapel feeling infinitely more refreshed and energised. Baurus looks better too, the weight of the bag carrying the Great Welkynd Stone no longer such a burden for him, although the fact I can now walk without his aid is surely a helping factor.

Our arrival into Bruma is notified by the severe drop in temperature and I wrap my garments tighter around myself as vaporous clouds of hot air escape my lips. Every time I return to the Temple, I curse the fact it is located at the top of a bloody great hill. Is there really any need to be so high up? Jauffre once told me that in Cloud Ruler Temple, a few men can hold it against an army; no bloody wonder as they'd all be too exhausted to fight after this climb. One look at Baurus labouring upwards with the heavy bag immediately hushes my silent grumbles. I offered countless times to share the burden, but he always refused, stubborn man that he is.

Martin isn't sat in his customary spot behind a tower of books when we enter the Great Hall. Finally bequeathing the Great Welkynd Stone to me, Baurus heads straight for the West Wing. Poor thing must be in desperate need of rest.

Given the heir's love of books, my first destination is the library, in case Martin is scouring its shelves for yet more reading material. My suspicions are confirmed by the sight of the priest crouched in front of the bottom shelf of one of the many bookcases, perusing the titles of the countless tomes before him. I cannot quite explain it, but an odd sense of relief floods through me upon seeing him again, as though being apart from him was a physical struggle, despite the fact that separation from Martin was the very reason for travelling to Miscarand in the first place. Hearing my entrance, he turns and throws me a quick smile before his eyes fall on the bag hanging over my shoulder. With a small shake of the head to clear my thoughts, I step forward.

"I trust I shan't need to use The Voice of The Emperor on you to get that," he quips, pointing to the bag.

"Depends on how much sleep you have had," I reply with a nervous laugh, suddenly remembering why I needed to get away from this place so much. _Snap out of it! _

"Not much, I'm afraid," he says, his features rearranging themselves into a more discerning expression before he continues. "Although I fear nobody is getting their full forty winks these days."

"That shouldn't be a problem for Baurus," I remark. "Or me, for that matter."

As I hold the bag out to Martin, his eyes fall on the angry gashes on my cheek.

"Good Gods, Linny, what have you done to yourself this time?"

"Zombies," I explain. "I swear I have had enough of the undead to last me a lifetime."

Martin's expression mirrors that of the healer back at the chapel in Skingrad, but I assure him I am fine. As overprotective as ever, he insists on checking my injuries for himself as he leads me to the table in the middle of the room, instructing me to remove my armour despite my protests. I know he means no disrespect to Marie, that only his concern for my welfare is making him double check her handiwork. Besides, I cannot deny it is nice to know that I have at least one person who holds genuine interest in my wellbeing.

The examination is quick and Marie Palielle can rest easy knowing her healing skills have the full endorsement of the future Emperor Martin Septim. Halfway through the inspection, Caroline enters with a message from Jauffre that elicits a loud groan from me.

"You'll live," he says, echoing his words from the last time he healed me in this room. "Now, as you heard, the Grandmaster expects a full report."

"Can't you tell him I fell into a coma, or something?" I whine.

"There is only so much I can do," he replies through laughter. "And the sooner you go, the sooner it shall be over."

My head droops forward, forehead landing on his right shoulder and I close my eyes for a brief moment. Despite the rough fabric of his priestly robes, the pose is somewhat comforting. I wonder why he still wears those garments. In my Errand Girl days, I had to clean every room in the temple and distinctly remember a large wardrobe sitting in the corner of the Emperor's quarters full of clothing. Perhaps none of it fitted, or he just refused to pander to the expectations of being nobility-a rebellious trait from his younger years? Martin's chest rises and falls gently with his steady breathing and I soon lose myself in the peaceful moment; a blissful paradox to the chaos of the week's previous exploits.

The serenity is interrupted by his soft murmur of my name and I resignedly lift my heavy head, the action causing several strands of hair to obscure my vision. He tucks them behind my ear, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he does so. The contact sends sparks along my jaw line and I make the grave error of looking into his eyes. Their intensity captures me like a spell and I find it fascinating that so many shades of blue and grey can be contained within such a small space. The deep, liquid pools stretch out indefinitely before me and I want nothing more than to dive in, to gain entry into his soul through those wide, open windows that radiate such compassion, such power. The heavy _thud, thud, thud_ of my pulse sends the blood roaring past my ears and I am too intoxicated to care if my emotions are clearly painted on my face for all to see.

In my absorption, I am barely aware of the space between our faces growing ever closer as a myriad of images drifts past my mind-flashbacks, visions and moments since waking in that accursed prison cell so long ago-each one tinted with the wondrous cerulean shade that now holds me captive as warm breath tickles my skin.

The loud creak of a door hammers reality back into focus as Caroline enters the library once more.

"I'm so sorry," she apologises sheepishly. "Jauffre wishes to see you immediately, Linny."

I slide down from the table and follow the Blade, without daring to give Martin a second glance, desperately trying to control the heart hammering wildly against my chest. I press my hands against my face, hoping the palms will cool the burning flush colouring my cheeks. My mind screams as bafflement and incredulity collide. _Stupid, idiotic, brainless... _I cut off the insults, trying to clear my head before facing Jauffre. What the Hell happened? How could I be so careless, let my guard down that way? What will he think of me _now_? _You weren't the only one doing it_. SHUT UP!

Jauffre is perched on the edge of the wooden table in the corner of the Great Hall, waiting patiently for my arrival. He motions for Caroline and I to sit and we comply. The next twenty minutes are spent battling against distraction to relay my adventures to the Grandmaster and I am ready to concede defeat when he says something that cannot fail to capture my attention.

"Your Highness," he begins, ignoring the fact that Martin detests being referred to by the title. Every single one of my nerve endings is acutely aware of Martin's presence as he stands beside me, but I refuse to let my eyes fall on any part of him. "I know you managed to decipher the latest part of the portal-opening ritual a couple of days ago," Jauffre continues. "Yet refused to divulge any information until Linny and Baurus recovered the Great Welkynd Stone. With the artefact's safe return, I do believe now would be a perfect time to share your knowledge."

"As you wish," the heir replies, a trace of discomfort lacing his words. "However, I fear I am about to become rather unpopular."

All thoughts of the incident in the library are instantly forgotten. Alright, not forgotten, but pushed a little further towards the back of my mind. What must be done this time? Martin's uncomfortable fidgeting tells me it cannot be good. Jauffre's expression makes it clear his thoughts mirror my own.

"Well, what is it?" the old man asks.

Martin takes a deep breath before speaking. "Just as the first two artefacts were the opposed powers of the Daedra and the Divines, the next item needed is a direct counterpart of the Welkynd Stone." He pauses a moment and I can tell he is stalling. The suspense looks ready to kill Jauffre. "What we need," the priest continues. "Is a Great Sigil Stone."

Initially, I fail to see why this should make him so unpopular and, judging by the frown on his face, Jauffre cannot either, but then I start to think about it. Martin once explained to me that Sigil Stones are what control Oblivion Gates and allow them to exist. So, if a Sigil Stone anchors an Oblivion Gate, then a Great Sigil Stone anchors a...

Oh dear.

"However, acquiring such an item requires a Great Oblivion Gate, such as the one opened at Kvatch."

"Well, that one has already been shut," Jauffre declares, turning to me with a hopeful expression. "So we already have it, do we not?"

Heat flares across my cheeks and I bite my lip awkwardly. "Um," I begin, hesitantly. "Not..._exactly_."

Jauffre's face drops.

"I didn't know it was important," I protest. "I didn't even know what it was! Nobody told me we would need it later on." Despite knowing I'm not to blame, I can't help shouldering the guilt for the oversight as my face turns a vivid crimson.

"It's alright, Linny," Martin reassures and I feel the weight of his eyes on me, but I am too cowardly to return it. "Nobody is to blame."

"Then what must we do?" Jauffre asks.

Martin inhales deeply and I can tell he is reaching the crux of the dilemma. "We must allow a Great Oblivion Gate to open in Bruma."


	12. Unpopular

**A/N: ****Another couple of chapters for your reading pleasure :) and Frenetic-Kinetic, what would i do without you? Also, thanks to harari24 for the words of encouragement xxxx**

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Martin Septim was right-he _is_ about to become very unpopular. Despite having already worked out that we needed a _Great _Oblivion Gate, hearing it must be opened within the walls of this very city is still a big shock. Jauffre jumps to his feet, hurling a tirade of objection at the heir apparent, who counters each argument with his own reasoning.

"Martin Septim," Jauffre exclaims. "If you think I am about to let a horde of Daedra destroy this city, you have another thing coming!"

"We have no other choice," opposes the younger man. "We need the Great Sigil Stone; the portal cannot be opened without it."

They continue their verbal war, each side refusing to allow the other victory and my mind travels back and forth with each argument launched. Both sides have valid points, but I can eventually feel the Grandmaster starting to wane against Martin's stubborn onslaught.

"Sire," Jauffre sighs as he runs a hand over his weary face. "I do not like this plan at all; however, it seems caution is no longer a luxury we can afford."

"Trust me," Martin replies. "If there was another way, I would gladly take it."

"The Countess would certainly be easier to convince if there was," Jauffre remarks, letting out a bitter laugh. "There is also the task of choosing who shall go to retrieve this Sigil Stone and who shall remain in the temple to protect you."

"No," says Martin, barely allowing the Grandmaster to finish. "I shall lead the defence of Bruma myself."

All eyes (including mine) fall on him, brimming with astonishment.

"If I am to be Emperor," he continues, before anyone can recover enough from the surprise to object. "Then it is time I started acting like one. I can no longer hide behind the bravery of others. There have already been too many sacrifices made on my behalf."

"Caroline, travel to Castle Bruma and speak with the Countess," Jauffre commands in a clipped voice. His face has turned an angry maroon and I worry his head may explode at any minute. "The heir and I shall be in my quarters. We are not to be disturbed."

The Blade rises to her feet immediately and bows to her two masters before making a hasty retreat. The two men then head towards the West Wing, Martin throwing a lingering glance back at me before exiting the Great Hall.

**000**

"What are you _thinking_?" I immediately launch my offensive when Martin returns to the library. Pacing back and forth for the past hour, I have almost worn a hole in the wooden floorboards. There has to be some way to convince him to rethink his plan of action. After all, if he dies, all hope is lost. My chest constricts at the idea and I hastily push the morbid thought away.

Martin doesn't answer right away. His hand rests on the handle of the closed door for a moment, before he slowly turns to face me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"There is no way you can do this," I continue, desperately trying to remember the speech I had drafted in my head. "Every single creature that comes out of that Gate will be aiming straight for you! How can the soldiers possibly defend the city, when they're all too preoccupied with your safety? It's madness!"

"Linny-"

I soldier on, his interruption failing to cease my rambling. "I may be in no position to judge, but you aren't exactly the greatest warrior-and that's not meant to be an insult; you've just never _had_ to be! And what if you die; who will light the Dragonfires then?"

"Linny-"

I start pacing the room again. "And what about the Empire? What about the people relying on you to lead them, to protect them, to save the entire realm from destruction? It's too dangerous for you to risk your life-"

"LINNY!"

He has never raised his voice to me before and it stuns me into silence. Swept up in my own monologue, I didn't even realise he had stepped towards me, but now I find him mere inches away and I jump back a step as an unbidden flashback of earlier invades my mind.

"May I speak now?" he asks, his voice laden with weariness.

I nod.

"You are repeating every argument Jauffre has spent the past hour or so hammering into me and my replies shall be exactly the same. Whether you like it or not, I am leading the defence; those 'people', of whom you so eagerly remind me, would expect nothing less of their Emperor."

I open my mouth to argue, but he halts my words with a raised hand.

"My mind is made up, Linny; trying to change it is a wasted effort so I suggest you stop."

I'm at a loss for words. The stubborn fool is determined to go through with it, so what can I do? That's a point-what _am_ I going to do? Will I be fighting alongside Martin or am I the poor bugger who must retrieve the Great Sigil Stone? I dread to think what Jauffre's plans could be. Martin's next words have me wondering if he is somehow telepathic.

"Besides, you've been assigned to tending the wounded in the chapel, so you will be far too busy to worry about what's happening on the battleground."

"I..." I begin, until his words properly register. "Wait..._what_?" I ask in disbelief. Of all the duties to assign me...I'm no nurse! Has Martin forgotten about my small problem with blood, or is this some sick kind of coping mechanism he's devised for me? Throw enough carnage my way and maybe I'll learn to deal with the bloodlust? My control over it may be improving, but I am still a long way from conquering _that_ particular demon. Martin is normally so hesitant about exposing me to any kind of unnecessary gore, but then I factor in his much more dominant trait of over protection. It was probably a choice between nurse and soldier, so he chose the former. Typical.

A list of names starts compiling in my head of all those who could be candidates for retrieving the Great Sigil Stone and I wince with each addition. The Daedra occupying a normal Oblivion Gate are bad enough, but what kind of demonic beasts are in a Great Gate? An involuntary shudder runs down my spine.

"Who's going into the Gate?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Baurus, I believe," Martin replies. "Hopefully, along with Captain Burd as his guide."

The news is both welcome and terrible. As excellent a fighter as he is, nobody stands a better chance of success in Oblivion than Baurus, yet Martin's safety is the most important thing right now; surely both his and Burd's expertise would be better spent guarding the heir?

My expression draws a small, mirthless chuckle from the priest. "Count yourself lucky, Linny," he says. "Jauffre was fully ready to send you as the guide instead."

Of course he was! How could I forget my position as the old man's favourite piece of cannon fodder? In all honesty, I suppose I cannot truly blame him; it makes an odd kind of sense after all, as I have the most experience with Oblivion Gates and it would leave them only one inexperienced fighter short, rather than two experienced ones. Also, keeping the best warriors with the heir ensures his safety. It makes me uncomfortable noticing just how important that is to me. Martin clearly regrets his last sentence because his next is:

"Oh no, you are the _last_ person I would send in there."

"Why? I've been through Gates before-"

"And returned each time less than a breath away from being a corpse! It's too dangerous."

"But Baurus would be there to help," I counter, knowing damn well I have no intention of letting the Blade accompany me-he is staying with Martin no matter what. "He's proven himself more than capable of looking after me."

"Even if you were the most skilled swordsman in all Tamriel, I still wouldn't send you," his eyes blaze earnestly as he speaks and I cannot look away. "That spy's reaction to you before proves that the enemy knew of your defection weeks ago. Your name is probably right beside mine on their hit list by now-if not higher for some of them-due to your betrayal. I don't want you anywhere near the Gate or battlefield."

"But-"

"I'm not arguing with you, Linny."

His reprimanding finger sparks an uncharacteristic flare of anger towards him inside. Normally I would appreciate his concern for my wellbeing, but right now my tenacity is making it feel more like I am being treated like a child and I have no idea what is causing it. Perhaps this is my own way of dealing with the recent whirlwind of emotions.

"You don't have to," I reply defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'll speak to Jauffre myself." _What am I doing?_

He steps forward as his eyes grow dark with anger and it takes all I have not to cower beneath his glare.

"Don't you dare," he warns.

"You can't stop me," I challenge, fighting to control my breathing. _For goodness' sake, stop being such an ass, Linny!_

"Don't test me." His voice is low and threatening.

For the first time, I find myself actually afraid of Martin. Clad in his priest's robes and kind demeanour, it is so easy to forget about the past his present masks. He was once just as dangerous as any of the Mythic Dawn acolytes I have encountered-probably still is, given the right circumstances. What would he do if I disobeyed him? With the look he is currently giving me, I'm almost too afraid to find out.

_Almost_.

**000**

I swear that priest can read me like a book! I trail behind Martin, Jauffre and Baurus in a barely veiled sulk as they head for the Chapel of Talos. When Caroline returned announcing the Countess of Bruma was waiting in the chapel for them to hold a council of war, I relished the solace the opportunity promised. While they were busy in Bruma, I would have plenty of time to slyly gather some provisions before the battle. Martin soon quashed that bloody idea with his insistence I accompany him to see the Countess. Hopefully, he will assume my funk is the product of our earlier conversation. _Patience, Linny, patience..._

The main entrance to the chapel is blocked by a large crowd of people, all chattering excitedly. They must have seen the Countess arrive. Two soldiers stationed by the large wooden doors see our approach and order the crowd to part. Numerous pairs of eyes follow our path as we enter the house of worship. Countess Narina Carvain stands before the altar, clad in a stunning cobalt gown and flanked by several armoured guards. The sourness of her expression is visible from the other end of the room. If possible, Martin Septim is about to become even less popular.

I'm ordered by Martin, like a pet, to sit in the front pew while he speaks to the Countess and I land my backside onto the seat with a stroppy thud, crossing my arms over my chest.

"This is madness!" she cries, her clipped, well-spoken voice reverberating off the stone walls as she responds to Martin's plan. To say she is unimpressed is to say that being eaten alive by rats is a little unpleasant.

Martin sets about convincing her, pouring every ounce of charm and reasoning he possesses into his argument and I soon feel my own irritation towards him slipping away as I get lost, once again, under his persuasive sway. Perhaps this speech craft is something he learnt during his worship of Sanguine. The passion behind his words is undeniable and the Countess' features soon soften into an expression of mild annoyance, rather than outrage. When Martin's case is eventually concluded, the Countess exhales heavily.

"This is the only way to stop this invasion from Oblivion?" she begins. "I must confess; you are the first person to speak of victory against these Daedra." A long pause follows and I begin to wonder if that is all she is going to say until she lifts her head proudly, her next words spoken in an altogether different tone as a fire ignites in her dark eyes. "So be it, caution be damned! If Bruma falls, the Empire falls with us, so I pray to the Gods that we do not fail."

Without delay, the Countess starts giving orders to her men and Jauffre turns to Martin, probably trying one last time to dissuade the heir from joining the battle. For once, I am in agreement with the Grandmaster. Sensing his role in the conversation isn't a necessity, Baurus' glance falls my way and a spark of genius ignites in my brain. Ensuring Martin's attention is caught in the tête-à-tête, I catch the Blade's eyes with my own, signalling that I wish to speak with him. Once he has realised that the subtle nods and shakes of my head are not, in fact, a sign that I am on the brink of insanity, he gives a subtle nod before strolling over towards me.

The echoey chapel seems to carry sound alarmingly well, but I know that whispering, much as I would love to do it, will arouse far too much suspicion, so I settle for low murmuring. The dark-skinned man's eyes ask me what it is I want.

"I need a favour," I say, watching Martin for any sign of him overhearing.

"What?"

"You are to retrieve the Great Sigil Stone, are you not?"

He nods.

"I want to go instead."

When the answering silence stretches on for longer than a minute, my gaze is dragged from the priest's to be confronted with Baurus' dumbfounded expression. Panic floods through me as I half expect him to walk away right now, but he stays, so I continue.

"Please, I know it is asking a lot, but I want-no, _need-_to do it. Martin is adamant about fighting alongside you all, but every enemy is going to aim straight for him! He needs the protection of the very best fighters and you are one of them; I cannot think of anyone more loyal. He needs you with him, as well as Captain Burd. If Martin dies, all hope is lost. No one else can light the Dragonfires, but if I fail to get the stone, which I damn well don't plan on doing, there are plenty more soldiers available to retrieve it."

"Linny, this is _insane_!"

"Which would you rather do-retrieve the Stone or protect the Emperor?"

Baurus' expression, as his eyes involuntarily dart to Martin, says it all.

"Please," I beg. "I can do this, I swear. Stay with Martin, stay where you belong!"

My words return the Blade's gaze to me and he scrutinizes my face.

"Why do you want to do this?" he asks, a frown puckering his forehead.

"I just told you. It makes no sense to send the best fighters off to Oblivion; Martin is more important than that."

"So you say, but _why_?" he repeats.

I blink in wonderment for a moment before answering. "What do you mean?"

"What's the _real_ reason you're asking me to do this?"

My mouth opens and shuts several times, but no words escape. I don't know what to say. Why am I doing this? Having only just concocted the plan, there hasn't even been chance for me to think it through myself. Do I want to? Not really; doing so could be very disconcerting-not because of my fear for his safety, but the reasoning _behind_ that fear. And it's not just the recent..._incidents _between the heir and I that cause the discomfort, but the icy well of terror that chills the pit of my stomach whenever I think about surviving this world without him, without the safety net his support and guidance offers. I scramble for a response-something, anything, just to persuade the Blade beside me to agree to my plan. His amber orbs flit between the heir and I before an odd look crosses his features.

"Alright," he relents with a weary sigh. "I'll do it, but if you make me regret this, I swear your own regret will be a hundred times greater."

A sigh of my own is released, although, unlike Baurus', it is of relief, rather than trepidation.

"I take it you have no weapons or armour?" he says with a quick survey of my person. "I'll see what I can find."

I want to throw my arms around the Blade in gratitude, but nothing would send Martin here demanding to know what I am up to faster. Instead, I settle for a brief nod as the heir and Grandmaster approach. Baurus gets to his feet to stand beside Jauffre before they walk to the exit and Martin guides me to a corner of the chapel out of earshot of everyone else.

"The other healers will arrive shortly, so I want you to wait here for them," he says. "Try not to annoy Cirroc too much. I know I ask a lot of you with this task, overcoming the difficulty you have around gore, but I believe you can do it."

"I hope so," I reply glumly.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." The small smile curving his lips retreats and he places a hand on my shoulder. I suddenly feel a desperate urge to wrap my arms around him and refuse to let go until he promises to stay, but I just about manage to ignore it. Before he continues speaking, Martin's eyes look over my head at something behind me and then return to me. "I'll see you soon," he promises, planting the briefest of kisses on my forehead before walking away. The affectionate action jars my already addled mind even more and I haven't even the faintest chance of holding back the tears, so let them fall silently down my face as the heir walks out the chapel doors without a second glance.

**000**

I pray to any God who will listen that I am not too late. I nearly trip in my haste to reach the battleground before the Great Gate opens and, using a cluster of boulders for cover, I see a small army of soldiers stood in regimental rows, each warrior's cuirass proudly displaying their homeland's crest. Their attention is fixed on the tall figure clad in golden armour as he paces back and forth, each word spoken punctuated by the passion and absolute determination he has carried throughout this crisis. This speech has none of the hesitation or uncertainty of the one given back when he arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple and my breath catches in my throat for a moment at the sight of the humble priest standing proud and strong before his loyal subjects. Martin, Priest of Kvatch is no more; in his place stands Emperor Martin Septim.

Cries of defiance against the enemy ring through the air as deafening claps of thunder herald the arrival of ominous cloud and flashes of scarlet lightning paint everything beneath the colour of blood. The ground begins to tremble as the first Oblivion Gate erupts from the earth, spewing fire and ash. It takes all my willpower not to run into the fray as Daedra of all shapes and sizes begin their assault. I must wait until the Great Gate opens, otherwise I risk being spotted by Martin. My eyes are fixed on him, watching as one of those gruesome Daedric warriors advances on him. I cringe at each lunge of its terrible mace, refusing to look away for fear of my gaze returning to a corpse. Thankfully, there are several Blades beside him, ensuring no enemy can get too close.

Two more Gates rise, each one announced by violent earthquakes and I hold my breath, knowing my moment has almost arrived. Ear-splitting cracks of stone and dirt precede the biggest earthquake of all as gigantic fractures form in the ground behind the other three Oblivion Gates and those fighting nearest are knocked to the ground. One by one, the crowning spikes reveal themselves as thick black smoke fogs the air, making it difficult to breathe. Endlessly upwards it rises, reaching almost twice the height of the other Gates, before it eventually slows its ascent, stopping with a thunderous boom of crunching stone.

The flaming threshold of the Great Oblivion Gate looms majestically over the battlefield and my feet propel me towards it before my brain can even give the command. The wind whooshes past my ears and the blood pounds through my veins as I focus all of my attention and energy on entering that gate. The shouts, cries and metallic clashes of warfare all fade away as the blazing chasm gets nearer and nearer, an unusual sense of purposeful calm flowing through my body as I sprint through the mêlée. Sweat pours down my face as the heat hits me and, for the third time, I enter Oblivion.


	13. Defiance

I gulp huge mouthfuls of clammy air, desperate to glean some oxygen from the stifling atmosphere as I roll over the rough earth before clambering to my feet. I can already feel my left cheekbone throbbing from a newly acquired bruise, courtesy of my clumsy landing. The roaring screech of rusted metal reverberates through the air as the gigantic gates ahead slowly open, revealing the flame-clad tip of an enormous siege engine. My eyes widen in horror as I think of the destruction such a machine will cause. I must stop it before it reaches Bruma!

Innumerable gangly bodies crowd around it, jumping, shrieking and dancing as they escort the weapon of doom. Even from this distance, I can tell they are scamps and, although my Destructive spells are more than capable of killing such creatures, there are far too many for me to handle alone right now. My eyes flit over the landscape as my brain frantically scrambles together a plan of action. There are three towers lined up ahead either side of me and seem to be connected by bridges, so I head in the direction of the tower nearest my left. As I unsheathe the sword given to me by Baurus, I pray my magicka will last.

The deafening roar of fire greets my ears as I shield my eyes from the blazing column of flame travelling through the centre of the chamber ahead. Before I can close the tower door behind me, a strong yank of my tatty brigandine's collar has me flying backwards and I am pinned face-first to the tower's exterior wall. A heavy weight crushes against my body as the rough wall digs into my left cheek. I try to struggle out of the grip, but the breath is squeezed from my lungs by a coarse hand around my throat. The foul stench of hot breath blasts my face as barely legible garbles are bawled into my ear and the pressure against my throat increases as I wheeze, desperate for air. Tiny black spots dance before my eyes, warning that unconsciousness is drawing closer.

_No, I did not come here to die!_

The sheer immensity of the brute's weight against me should make all movement impossible, but my desperate determination lends a last burst of strength to my body as I buck. I gain an inch of room between my adversary and I, allowing me a split second to slam a fireball into its stomach. While not devastating, the surprise attack causes the grotesquery to stumble a few steps backwards and I jump out of its range.

A sensation I have not felt for quite some time starts to thrum deep within me. Chaotic calm feeds power to my body and soul as everything fades to nothingness, leaving my opponent the sole object of my focus. As if possessed, my body moves with the grace and skill of a seasoned warrior as I avoid savage attack after savage attack. Somewhere within my battle-focused mind my consciousness is registering everything, but seems to have no control over it. Silver flashes cut through the crimson with every lightning-fast swing of my blade as cherry liquid decorates its smooth, deadly surface. The adrenaline pumping through my veins is intoxicating as I throw every ounce of strength into the fight, leaving my senses numb to any of the pain the creature's retaliating blows may inflict.

The battle-inept part of my psyche obviously decides to rear its incompetent head at some point as a kick to the stomach sends me to the ground. A blast of white energy from my fingertips lands my assailant in the same position, allowing me a second of opportunity to jump to my feet and lunge, but the Daedric soldier manages to dodge just in time. Its gnarled and bloodied mace swings above its head, before hurtling downwards to strike and I raise my sword defensively to block, the force of the attack sending a violent tremor through my torso. A powerful thrust twists the mace out of the creature's grip, sending it flying through the air, before I drive my sword into its hulking chest. A furious howl erupts from its monstrous jaws, before it clamps a hand over mine and pushes the weapon deeper into its torso, bringing our faces closer together. The animal grabs a fistful of my hair and, before I can find out what the goal of this move may be, I slam my forehead into its deformed face. Ignoring the glittering flashes of white obscuring my vision, I retract the sword and slice it savagely through the creature's neck. Blood sprays onto my hands and face as my opponent crumples to the ground.

Any hopes of rest are diminished by the footsteps sounding behind me. I wheel to face this new foe, my blade whistling as it sails through the air and collides with another to emit a loud, metallic clang. The countenance facing me immobilizes my limbs and I momentarily black out as the warrior disappears, to be replaced by the vulnerable young woman once more. My sword clatters to the ground as I take several clumsy steps backwards, desperately trying to regulate my breathing once again.

"B-Baurus?" I manage to say.

"What in the name of bloody Akatosh was _that_?" he demands, looking from me to the dead Daedric brute.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, ignoring his question. "You're supposed to be with Martin!"

"You didn't think I was going to let you carry out this suicide mission alone, did you?"

"That was the whole point!" I yell, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins allowing my anger to flare up quickly. "I take your place, leaving you free to protect the Emperor!"

"There are currently dozens of soldiers doing just that right now, Linny," he counters. "But who is going to protect you?"

"Who cares? As long as the Great Sigil Stone is recovered it doesn't matter."

"And if you fail?"

"I won't!"

Again he gives me the same look as in the Bruma Chapel when I first explained my plan. I don't have time for this; the siege engine will reach Bruma any minute! I let out a bellow of frustration before squeezing my eyes shut to trap the angry tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

"Look," Baurus begins. "I'm here now, whether you like it or not-arguing cannot change that-and we need to stop that war machine. So where is this Sigil Stone?"

I brush past him angrily to retrieve my sword. "This way."

**000**

The first tower gives us very little trouble, with any enemies dispatched quickly. Of course, this is largely thanks to my companion; my earlier display of swordsmanship gives no sign of returning yet. Baurus' defensive body language and nervously flitting gaze is a reminder that this is his first foray into Oblivion and I feel a fraction of pity for him, although not enough to quell my anger towards him. His tawny eyes burn with violent fury upon seeing the blood and mangled corpses decorating the spiked, elevating platform.

At the top, we open the door to be greeted by a long, narrow bridge that leads to the next tower. Before we are even half way across, howls and snarls herald the arrival of three more Daedra. Two are armour-clad warriors like the one I fought alone earlier, with the third a mage dressed in black robes. Dodging the mage's lightning bolts is difficult, given the narrow amount of space provided by the bridge. We only just succeed and Baurus pulls a sharp dagger from his boot, before hurling it straight for the ebony-clad creature. The perfection of his aim is demonstrated by the blade sinking right into his target's head, before it topples like a dead weight off the edge of the bridge.

"Get that magicka of yours ready, Linny," Baurus instructs, before charging the remaining two enemies.

I follow, throwing as many fireballs at the Daedric pair as possible before they reach Baurus. Most hit their mark, but one manages to singe the side of Baurus' cropped hair. Thankfully his opponents are not yet close enough to take advantage of the unintended distraction. The beast closest raises its demonic axe, ready to strike, but at the last moment, the Blade drops to the floor to slide between its legs, hacking at its ankle so it follows its comrade to the ground far below. I haven't the time to fully appreciate the impressive move as I throw a destructive shock spell at the last enemy, immensely grateful at Martin's willingness to show me such a trick. Once the creature is decapitated, Baurus and I take a moment to catch our breaths, before proceeding to the second tower.

The next bridge reveals the difficult path we must take in order to reach the main tower. Firstly, we shall have to risk an almighty jump from this bridge down to the ground below, praying we don't land in the gigantic pool of lava more than ready to welcome us into its clutches. Then we must traverse the rocky terrain to reach one of the last two smaller towers stood either side of our destination. The path leading from them to the main tower is blocked by large gates, so we also have to find the means of activating them too. It will be tedious, not to mention dangerous, but no good can come from dwelling on the matter.

My heart thuds nervously within my chest as I gauge the distance between the bridge and the ground. Although lower than the previous one, the distance is still terrifying. This is going to hurt. Baurus goes first, taking a running jump before landing in an inelegant roll. After clambering back to his feet, he signals for me to follow and I take a few deep breaths to prepare. After several backwards steps, I swing my arms a few times to gain momentum and, before I can think it through too much, sprint towards the edge of the bridge. My right foot kicks against the edge of the bridge to propel me into the air and an involuntary yelp of fear escapes my lips as the ground comes hurtling towards me. Pain shoots up my left leg as I crash to the ground and Baurus rushes to my side.

"Linny?"

I wave him away impatiently before attempting to stand. As soon as the left ankle is forced to bear any weight, it throbs and I lurch back to the floor with a hiss.

"Do you have any magicka left?" he asks, a dim cobalt glow already emitting from his palm.

Before I can answer, he has placed it against my leg and the cool relief of Restoration has me once again cursing the sweltering temperatures of this barren landscape. Within moments, my leg is fully functional again and the Blade offers a hand to help me up. I look over my shoulder to check the siege engine's progress, but from this vantage point, I cannot tell how close it is to reaching Bruma. I did not think it possible, but the sight manages to quicken my heartbeat. There is no time to waste!

Countless cuts and scrapes are our reward for traversing the terrain, which proved to be even tougher than it looked. On the bridge above, I see several Daedric sentries patrolling the bridge leading from the tower we are about to enter. I wasn't ready before to admit how grateful I am for Baurus' assistance in this task, but would gladly shout it to the heavens if required now. It would take a miracle for me to get even halfway across that bridge alone.

Baurus leads, as usual, slowly pushing open the entrance door of the tower. Oddly, no Daedra occupy this level. The silent solitude makes me feel ten times worse than if we were surrounded by enemies. Where are they? Is this a trap to lure us into some false sense of security, or part of some sick mind trick designed to sway our focus? I don't know about my comrade, but I am not willing to linger and find out. We ascend the winding ramp and are greeted at the top by a huge rusted mechanism. I assume this to be the means of opening the gate on the bridge we are about to cross and clasp the lever with both hands. With some effort, the lever is forced down and the floor trembles beneath our feet, followed by a thunderous roar of metal from outside.

"Good Gods!" Baurus cries, clasping his hands over his ears. "There is not a creature in this entire Hellhole that won't have heard that! Let's go."

I don't need to be told twice and we shove open the door, revealing the hastily advancing forms of three snarling Daedra. With my magicka reserves depleted, I must rely on my sword to fight and send a silent apology to the Blade for any cock-ups that will inevitably occur.

Without hesitation, Baurus charges into the fray, his Akaviri katana gleaming in the blood-red light. Sensing him to be the stronger opponent, two of the sentries aim for him, leaving the third to me. Thankfully, this bridge is much wider than the previous two, so I am able to duck and dive out of the creature's range.

_This is hopeless! Run while you still can and get that stone!_ I cannot abandon Baurus-I won't! _Even if it means your own death and the ruin of all Tamriel? Getting the stone is all that matters and you know there is no chance for another attempt if you fail. _

I give a quick shake of my head, refusing to give in to the voice. There are more enemies waiting further along the bridge and without Baurus, I _definitely _won't reach the Sigil Stone. A recurrence of latent battle prowess would be very handy right now! Sadly that wish is not being granted, so I must rely on evasion to survive until I can get a clear shot as my speed is the only advantage I have over my burly adversary. Risking a quick glance his way, I can see Baurus has already managed to slay one of the enemies. It does little to ease my sense of ineptitude.

My opponent soon gets infuriated with my tactics, impatience making its attacks more reckless as his mace hacks through the space between us. If I can keep this up long enough, Baurus should be able to finish it off. Cowardly, I know, but I cannot allow pride to overrule sense this time. Sadly, the creature is much more astute than it looks as it suddenly stops and lowers its weapon. I pause mid-step, utterly baffled by this move. I do not twig until it is too late, when the warrior suddenly springs forward and I try to jump back, my equilibrium thrown off by the lack of solidity behind me.

Everything moves in slow-motion. My arms gradually rise beside me before starting to spin in circles of languid desperation. Tendrils of silver blonde glide past my eyes as the hands of gravity tow my body over the edge of the bridge. My fingers claw at the air in the vain hope of finding something-_anything_-to halt my descent and brush against something metallic. My fist closes around the object, but I continue to fall and my stomach lurches in terror.

_I've failed. The fate of the world rests on the retrieval of the Great Sigil Stone and I will die before the task is completed. Please let Baurus succeed where I could not._

A violent jolt pushes my heart into my throat as I stop in mid-air. Dangling precariously off the edge of the bridge, I am vaguely aware of something very sharp burrowing into my palm and look up to see what my hand is gripping on to. A gasp of surprise escapes my lips when I realise I am clinging on to the rusted mace currently held in the right hand of my Daedric opponent and the only thing keeping us both from decorating the rocky terrain below is its other hand currently clutching the bridge's edge.

I swing my free arm to grip its wrist before it can drop the mace, earning me an infuriated snarl. Without pause for thought, I clamber desperately up the creature's body as it thrashes to try and throw me off. My fingertips brush against stone, but fail to grip and I let out a growl of frustration. A mirthless chuckle has my head turning to see the Daedric menace's face less than an inch from mine, a sinister grin splitting its face in two. The intent behind that smile is clear.

"No!" I scream as the creature relinquishes its hold of the bridge.

Momentary weightlessness is followed by another fierce jerk as something wraps around my forearm. This time when I look up, my gasp is of jubilance to see Baurus sweat sodden face growing ever closer as he hauls me up.

"I do believe," he comments dryly. "It's your turn to save my life next time."

Near hysterical laughter is the only response I can offer and tears of gratitude well in my eyes.

"You can thank me later," he says, looking over his shoulder. "We still have a job to do."

As I stand and my weapon is returned to me, I see the slaughtered bodies of the two Daedra killed by Baurus. Where the hell did he learn to fight like that? If only he had remained to protect Uriel Septim, things could have been very different.

Finally, we reach the main tower and find no shortage of enemies all too eager to keep us from our goal. Far from exhausting him, the previous brawl seems to have bolstered his stamina as he lays waste to our foes. The only thing going through my mind is reaching the Sigil Stone. Even if I have to crawl or drag myself there, I swear I will not fail now that I am so close to success. I start to search each slain body for the key to the Sigillum Sanguis and get an odd look thrown at me by the Blade.

"What are you doing, Linny?" he asks, making no attempt to hide his irritation.

"We need the key to enter the Sigil Keep."

"Sod the key; I'll break the damn door down if necessary!"

A terrifying war axe greets us as we near the top of the tower. Thankfully, the beast is alone and we are able to overwhelm it. I begin another search for the key, but am interrupted by the thunderous smacking of metal against whatever-it-is this tower is made of. Looking up, I see Baurus hacking at a large door with his Katana and, in any other circumstance, this scene would bring on a fit of laughter. In less than a minute, he has pounded a hole through the middle and we both enter.

There it is: the Great Sigil Stone. Nearly twice the size of its counterparts, the blackened orb waits majestically amidst a sea of flame. My hair whips against my face and neck as the scorching wind created by the fire encircles the chamber. Despite the heat, we have no choice but to proceed and I try to take a few breaths in preparation, but immediately regret doing so; the air burns my lungs. There's nothing for it; we'll have to charge into the blaze.

Grabbing Baurus' hand, I lead the way, ignoring everything but my goal. The short couple of feet from door to stone feel like miles when battling these sorts of conditions. Small debris smacks against my face, neck and hands, meaning I can barely see through the crimson mist. I force my eyes to fix on the black sphere silhouetted within the bright light, willing my steps closer and closer, until the tips of my fingers connect with its rough, blistering surface. My companion's palm crashes onto the stone, but, just as I turn to throw a triumphant smile his way, an incredible force yanks me backwards.

His voice crying my name is followed by a second of searing pain and blinding white before the black takes over.


	14. Decision

**A/N:**** Woop woop, chapter 14 already! Thanks, as always, go to my wonderful beta for all her hard work. And thanks to all the reviewers and readers so far. Hope the story is still entertaining :)**

* * *

Blood.

Its smell, taste and touch is absolutely everywhere. I cannot see properly, only differentiate shapes and shadows painted in varying shades of the vital life source. Much of my own coats my body as the beating continues and the measurement of pain holds no significance for me anymore. How long my torment has endured, I cannot say, time has blurred along with my vision and any sign of coherence I once possessed. The eventual relenting of my subjugators tells me I must be very close to death. If not, I very soon will be and almost welcome it; at least the torture would end.

Silence prevails for a long time, leaving ample opportunity for me to evaluate the damage done. There is not a part of me that doesn't holler in complete and utter agony. If only I could see properly, a survey of my surroundings would provide a little distraction from the horror. A voice echoes off the walls of my Hell, but I fail to distinguish any words. Footsteps come nearer and a command is barked at me. How can they expect me to follow any sort of order in this state? This person is either a simpleton or sadist. An impatient kick to the stomach informs me they are very much the latter. Survival instinct kicks in and I manage to grasp my visitor's next words.

"On your feet, Morlinna."

It is not the words that chill me to the core; it is the quiet, hypnotic voice that utters them. The voice that haunted countless dreams. What is _he_ doing here? Where is _here_? Gripping one of my biceps, the pathetic whimpers that accompany each of my body's painful protests are ignored as I am raised to my feet. Two hands grip either side of my face and a pair of scarlet irises burns holes through my pupils. I have no choice but to return their intense gaze, yet something is wrong-these are not the eyes I remember. A flicker of memory sparks in my mind as I picture those crimson pools, once alight with such passion, desire, _power_. Now I stare into them and see...nothing. No passion, no desire, no emotion of any kind. Others might have seen two orbs glistening with maniacal obsession, but to me they are dead.

I start to wonder if the dreams and flashbacks are the recounting of fact or moments distorted by a rosy tint of sentimentality. Are those memories even real or was I lied to from the very beginning? If I want answers, this is the perfect opportunity to get them, but words fail me. Instead, he speaks once again.

"You have failed me," he says, disappointment mingling with quiet fury.

Each accusatory word pierces my heart as I listen, all thoughts of pain and torture gone as the velvet voice sweeps me into its spell.

"The plan was flawless," he continues. "I was so sure it would succeed because the task was appointed to you." His icy expression melts slightly, as though caught in a moment of reminiscence. "You, Morlinna, my most loyal servant. The one I knew wouldn't fail me; if you could not do it, no one could."

A desperate need to please and prove my worth overwhelms me. Despite the absurdity, I want to protest his assertion and beg forgiveness, offer everything I am to earn his good favour once more.

"All you had to do was deliver him to me," he says, a note of regret tingeing his tone. "Deliver Martin Septim-" the name is almost spat out of the elegant mouth. "-and all of this would be over. Dagon would have Tamriel, the day long dreamt of would be at hand and we..." he trails off a moment, his forehead pressing against mine as he lets out a sigh, but his gaze never leaves me.

I forget to breathe. An ache spreads outwards from my chest, but I do not understand it. What is this plan he speaks of? Suddenly another memory hits and I remember the words uttered by the 'sponsor'-who so closely resembled the man before me now-all that time ago in the Imperial sewers.

"_It seems all is going according to plan."_

No, it couldn't be! Or could it? Is it possible that everything from waking in that prison cell to now was, in fact, part of some elaborate plot to destroy Tamriel? Hard as I try, I fail to see what such a roundabout scheme could achieve.

"But there is still time, Linny," he declares, the less formal address clearly an attempt to mollify me. To my discredit, it works. "The situation is not beyond saving just yet. There is still time for you to play your part, one so vital to the plan!"

His eyes are barely an inch from mine and the lateral part of my mind wonders if it is actually the blood pumping through his veins that colours those magnificent irises. Persuasion seems to ooze from every pore of his skin, washing over me as he asks:

"Will you do it? Will you kill Martin Septim?"

**000**

I lay on the hot, rough earth, still recovering from the sledgehammer of a question posed almost an hour ago. I hadn't replied at the time, for the prospect was just too much to absorb. My visitor had accepted the silence and returned me to the ground, allowing me time to decide. In Carac Agaialor, he awaits my answer. Obviously realising my thought process has been slowed considerably by my frail state; he ordered one of the Daedric guards to offer me a small amount of Restoration. I am far from fighting fit, but at least the pain no longer wrenches tears from my eyes.

The question spins round and round in my head. Kill Martin? It was not so long ago that I would have said yes immediately; back when Mankar Camoran was the only one plaguing my dreams. That, however, is no longer the case. I allow myself a moment of reverie, thinking about the moment my eyes had fallen on the beautiful elf in the caverns of Lake Arrius. The sensations were so overwhelming, so intoxicating and I had wanted desperately to follow him into that portal, to know the man behind the dreams. Now that wish has been granted, his eyes have looked into mine, his hands have cradled my face and I am a mess of indecision.

That is when a voice I have not heard in a while chimes in.

_You are not a failure, you are a fool!_

The self-admonishment surprises me. What is that supposed to mean?

_After everything that has happened, are you still so willing to be the plaything of Mehrunes Dagon's little lapdog?_

Plaything? Who the Hell-?

_He is USING you!_

It surprises me to hear such venom in the voice. I have always assumed it to be fuelled by the chaotic, bloodthirsty part of me, so surely it should _encourage_ my allegiance to Camoran. Apparently not, if the next sentence is anything to go by!

_I would not have you follow him, were he the last person left alive. The elf is a smarmy, manipulative madman, too stupid or delusional to see he is a mere puppet of Dagon. Mark my words, Camoran's fate will be no different to Tamriel's._

I consider this a moment. As the leader of the Mythic Dawn, Mankar Camoran has been instrumental in Dagon's return, but when the Daedric prince reaches his goal, what will Camoran do then? Trying to picture the proud, haughty elf in the role of right hand man; I cannot materialize the image in my mind. It simply does not fit.

_I may be bloodthirsty, but not at the expense of our existence. With Dagon, there is no chance for life. There is, however, someone who offers hope..._

The voice trails off and I need no further explanation. The merest mention of the heir brings countless images and memories to mind. I push all those focusing on Martin to the back, saving them for last.

The first is of Tamriel itself: so foreign, dangerous and unwelcoming, yet undeniably beautiful in its way. The little girl in the Chapel of Kvatch, faced scarred almost beyond recognition, her laughter and smiles warming the hearts of all the survivors around her; Ilend Vonius, hacked down by that monster, sacrificing his life to allow me to reach the Sigil Stone. Caroline, the quiet, dependable Blade who so bravely fought the poison of those wretched vampires. Captain Burd, his utter defiance and steely resolve displayed in the Sigillum Sanguis, marking him as a true leader of men. Baurus, the most irritating, mistrustful, surly man I have ever encountered, that I would not change for the world.

There is something intrinsically linking all these people together: altruism. Not one of them was fuelled by desire for power, dominance or greed. None has disregarded the importance of others to further their own positions. I may have had my disagreements with some, but their true intentions are clear for all to see. Even Jauffre, who I remember once describing as downright underhanded, has only ever acted for the good of the Empire and his master, the next Emperor, soon to be Martin Septim.

Martin. The man so reluctant for a role he was born to take is, in some ways, very similar to Camoran. He has the same persuasive charm that can captivate anyone who will listen. His eyes hold the same intensity, burning with such passionate belief in his cause. He took me in when I had no one, offered me guidance when I was lost. So alike and yet so different. My feelings for Martin are based on fact, whereas I no longer know if the memories I have of my former master are even real. The priest is the Restoration to Mankar Camoran's Destruction. He gave comfort and support when I needed it and...asked for nothing in return. Not a single thing.

That is when I make my decision.

**000**

How clever, Mankar Camoran. Using such a misleading word to describe the nightmarish realm I traverse is almost enough to make me laugh out loud. Paradise? Yes, the sun bathing the forests and sandy paths in a balmy amber glow may make the place seem like a small slice of Heaven, yet the unerring sense of doom permeating the beautiful facade chills me to the bone. Knowing that what lies beneath the picturesque surface replicates the dreadful landscapes of the Oblivion Planes does little to contradict my opinion.

I am unsure how long I have spent in this realm. It feels like forever, but it must have only been a day or so. During my ruminations, something managed to grab my attention. As Camoran spoke to me, I was so lost in my own misery and confusion to notice what he wore about his neck. After much concentration, which earned me a headache, I realised something was very familiar about it. Emitting the same blood red glow that bathed everything around me, the object failed to grab the attention it usually does, but a great deal of rooting around my brain managed to identify the object: the Amulet of Kings.

Purpose lends strength and speed to me now, but the broken stone path leading up a long incline seems to take forever. Eventually I see an edifice basking in the radiant sun. I have no idea what will happen when I see my former master again, but he asked for my answer so I shall give it. With no food or water offered and my energy being spent on recovery, I know if it comes to a fight I shall lose, but it does little to deter me.

Reaching the bottom of the stone staircase leading to the entrance of Carac Agaialor, two figures approach me. Both faces are instantly recognisable, although one shall probably bear me more ill will than the other. The first to reach me is the woman who requested I kill the Argonian-Jeelius-to prove my loyalty to the Mythic Dawn. She is also one of the many acolytes I slaughtered in a haze of bloodlust, explaining the scowl she greets me with now.

"You did not expect to see me again, did you?" she asks, bitterness coating each word. "You have no grasp of the power that my father has at his command!"

"Now, now, sister," comes the voice of the second figure, who wears an aloof smirk on his lips as he descends the steps. The Mythic Dawn 'sponsor' addresses me. "You came to see Father, did you not? Come, let us not keep him waiting any longer."

I follow them, but he soon falls in step with me, letting his sister lead.

"He expected you hours ago, you know," he comments, a hint of almost amusement in his tone.

"Sorry, I was a little preoccupied with the savage beating I had just received," I reply tartly, which earns a quiet chuckle from him.

"I can see this will be..._interesting_."

We enter the palace and I would gasp at the sheer magnificence of my surroundings, were my mind not already fit to burst with preoccupation. At the opposite end of the hall, Mankar Camoran stands on a raised platform, his back to me as I approach, flanked by his offspring. He slowly turns as I advance and I see the majestic amulet dangling about his neck before his eyes lock on mine. We stand there for a while, simply watching each other. He seems to be searching my eyes for something, but I do not know what until he speaks.

"So, your choice is made."

His eyes finally break away from mine as his head bows with a gentle sigh. What now? His head slowly rises and he steps down from the platform.

"I had such high hopes for you, Linny," he continues, a brief glimmer of regret flashing across his features. "But you seem determined to throw it all away for the love of a pathetic pretender. So be it."

He turns and retrieves a staff from the seat of the throne situated in the centre of the platform. Wearing the Amulet of Kings, building a palace and seating himself on a throne? He really does have delusions of grandeur! How did I ever fall under the spell of this man? Whatever caused me to pledge my allegiance to him was clearly wiped away by the amnesia and I am glad of it. A strange weightlessness fills me, making my entire body feel light and springy. It is the freedom borne of decision. My choice is made, my path clear; all that remains is to finish this fight with Camoran and remove that amulet from his undeserving neck.

Seeing the staff clutched in his right hand, I clench my fists. It may be a pathetic gesture, given my weariness and lack of experience, but they're all I have to fight with right now, as I was unable to acquire any sort of weapon on my journey. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other two move towards me, but Mankar holds up a hand to stop them.

"Leave us," he commands them, before returning his attention to me. "This is between Morlinna and I."

The siblings hesitate, a look of alarm passing between them, but eventually obey their father's orders. When we are alone, the look he gives me is so disarming, I nearly stumble backwards. A concoction of fury, passion, desire and respect, I wonder at the thoughts running through his mind at this very moment. He chucks something in my direction, but I fail to catch it and it clatters noisily to the ground. I look to see it is a sword and wonder if it had been in his hand the entire time. My observation skills clearly leave much to be desired. I pick it up, numerous aches and jolts of pain reminding me just how poorly prepared I am.

He steps to the side and starts to circle me. Unfortunately, with the renouncement of my destructive past, there seems little chance of any convenient blessing of expert swordsmanship this time, so must rely on my own wits. This fight will not last long, but if I am going to die, he is coming with me.

"The last defender of the last ragged Septim stands before me, in the heart of my power," he declares. "Let us see who at last has proved the stronger!"

A bolt of energy flies from the tip of his staff and I dive just in time to avoid it, rolling on the floor before righting myself. More follow, some easily avoided, others narrowly. They come at me at an incredible rate and the adrenaline pumping through my body isn't enough to keep me going for long. I tire quickly and one of the bolts singes the sleeve of my tunic. I breathe out a sigh of relief; another inch and that would have been my hand.

When he first offered the sword, I wondered at this demonstration of fair play, but now I see it was a lie. Against the long range of his staff, this sword is useless; I haven't a hope of even getting close enough to hit him with the damn thing! Musing over this latest mind game is distraction enough for a second's delay in avoiding the latest onslaught and the blast of energy catches my shoulder. The force of it sends me spinning to the ground and I let out a cry of agony, before my entire left arm starts to go numb. Thankfully I am right-handed; although I doubt I will ever get chance to use the sword.

A gloating chuckle sounds behind me and I turn my head to glower at Camoran as he stands there triumphantly.

"Afraid you'll lose in a fair fight?" I spit, hoping to choke him with the venom dripping from each syllable.

This comment only serves to fuel his mirth. "Fair fight?" He steps towards me, incredulity raising his eyebrows. "Look at you! Filthy, decrepit, USELESS! It wouldn't be a fair fight, even if I chained my wrists and ankles together." More laughter.

"Then," I begin, rising unsteadily to my feet. "You won't object to throwing the staff away."

Camoran evaluates me and I desperately hope he accepts the challenge. I have no delusions of winning, but at least there will be the _possibility_ of me getting a few hits in. After a minute or two of consideration, I get my answer. Discarding the staff, he throws a malicious smirk my way.

"Consider it a dying wish," he says as he pulls a long, elegant blade from the scabbard hanging at his waist.

Scabbard? I swear this lack of attentiveness shall be my downfall. We raise our weapons defensively and I send a silent prayer to the deities I have heard so much about. _Please,_ I beg, _just let me live long enough to get that amulet._

Without warning, he springs and I barely manage to fend off the attack, before blow after savage blow rains down on me. Despite the discomfort of my left, I force both hands to tightly grip the hilt of my sword and stubbornly hold my ground; I haven't the strength to do anything more. This seems to irritate my aggressor, evident in the ever growing ferocity of his offense.

Unfortunately my strength is not limitless and whilst my attention is fixed on blocking, his knee connects with my abdomen. All the breath leaves my lungs and I crumple to the ground, lacking the oxygen to let my brain realise I am about to die. He circles me like a vulture, as I lay face-down on the cold, marble floor, before knocking my sword just out of reach. That is when a spark of inspiration ignites in my brain. My current position hides my face from his view and I keep absolutely still. The hilt of my weapon is only a hand's span away from my fingertips (another ploy to tease me, no doubt) and I wait as he continues to circle me, obviously checking to see if I am still conscious. I listen carefully to the footsteps as they start to slow, before coming to a stop beside my head. I feel his breath blow against my ear as he whispers into it.

"Farewell, my child."

Warm breath is replaced with cold air as his head moves away from mine and I seize my opportunity. Quick as lightning, my right hand flies out to clutch the thick golden chain encircling his neck, before pulling him down to the floor. Taking full advantage of his momentary distraction, I lunge for his sword and manage to drive it into his chest, just as his energised palm connects with mine.


	15. Forgiven

**A/N: ****the penultimate chapter, at last! The same r & r requests go out, as usual. :)**

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_The screams were the worst. The sweltering heat, burning flame whipping her flesh and blurred vision all were obstacles to be overcome, yet the constant echoes of those agonising screams were intolerable, chiefly because she was unable to locate the source. It was hard to distinguish whether they were from a male or female, adult or child. And there was more than one. As time went on, more and more distraught voices joined in to create a woeful harmony. She wanted nothing more than to reach the victims and end their suffering, but where were they? All around her the air was thick with ashen fog. Scarlet embers floated in the wind, sizzling as they hit her skin. _

_She started in one direction, trying to keep as straight a course as possible, listening intently to the voices. As she progressed, they started to fade so she halted, listened harder, then about-turned. The cries soon rose in volume, rising and rising, until they culminated in a deafening crescendo of agony. Still, there was nobody to be seen. Where _were_ they?_

_Eventually, the desperate turning and twisting on the spot left her head spinning and she paused for a moment to recover balance. _

"_This is madness," she thought. "It cannot be possible to hear them so clearly, yet not see them!"_

_A distorted figure loomed ahead, a pale grey silhouetted by the swirling red mists. She stepped forward, hesitant at first, until she recognised the figure to be human. They appeared to be on their knees, head buried in their hands. With a start, she realised the screams had subsided to a quiet, solitary sob. She squinted to make out the features of the person before her as she slowly advanced. Clad in tattered tunic and breeches, the sex was still indistinguishable. The skin visible through the multiple tears in the garments displayed numerous injuries and vicious whip marks lined the exposed back. Combined with the matted hair, the sight was a pathetic one. What could have possibly happened to this poor person?_

_Stopping a foot away, she called to the victim, but no response was forthcoming to begin with. After a couple more tries, the hands slowly lowered as the head rose. The shoulders still shook from occasional sobs, but they seemed to be composing themselves. Sensing no danger from them, she stepped a little closer, once again enquiring as to their wellbeing. The reply was a slight turn of the head towards her, marking acknowledgement without revealing their face. A few more paces and only a few inches remained between them. _

"_Why can I not see your face?" she wondered. Surely, at such close proximity, the features of the person kneeling before her should be perfectly clear, yet a shadow seemed to sit over the stranger's entire form._

_Her lips parted to speak once more, but, before any sound could escape, the figure's head snapped round to face her and she screamed at its hideously scarred countenance._

"_WHY DID YOU DO IT?" it bellowed, blood pouring from its eyes._

_Without warning, the victim leapt towards her, pinning her to the ground. The jaws opened to reveal misshapen, blackened teeth, before clamping down on the flesh of her neck. A scream of pain was followed by her fists pounding at the attacker's head, desperately trying to relinquish its hold. A knee to the stomach released her throat and she kicked it off, before rolling onto her stomach and levering herself upright. The creature charged once again, the attack countered with a blade to the heart. Its eyes widened in shock as the lips opened and closed soundlessly. Blood trickled out of its mouth, stopping at its chin. _

_Something bizarre started happening. The blood started retreating up the jaw to re-enter its mouth. The deformed teeth grew paler, widening and straightening, until they resembled a perfectly healthy set. The weeping scars began to pucker and close, leaving smooth, creamy skin in its place, as the lank, dishevelled hair faded to a shimmering silver blonde. Tears fell from blazing emerald eyes and she gasped at her own image staring back at her. She retreated from the doppelganger, withdrawing the weapon. With a last, strangled sob, the creature reached out a hand, before collapsing to the ground, its body shattering into dust._

_She stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Looking down, she saw a small patch of scarlet adorning her tunic. It started to expand before her very eyes, the patch nearly tripling in size within minutes. There was no pain, no sensation of any kind. Brow creased in confusion, she touched the stain with her forefinger, bringing the digit up to eye level to examine the sticky substance. _

_As comprehension dawned, the world went dark._

**_000_**

_True silence is a rarity. Even in the quietest, most secluded of places, there is always some sort of background noise. However subtle, however distant, none can truly escape the phenomenon of sound. She was an exception to that rule, as she lay beneath the bright yet clouded day, fingers and toes burying in the long, soft blades of grass. Even with the light breeze, there wasn't a sound to be heard; no birdsong, rustle of leaves or tinkling of water. _

_She rolled her head to the right, gazing at the numerous shades of grey dancing in the river's reflective surface. Stretching her arm, she dangled her hand into the cool liquid for a while before splashing. Still no sound._

"_How odd," she thought, whilst her fingers continued to dance beneath the water's surface._

_With the impenetrable silence and wind caressing her skin, her eyelids began to lower._

_A sound._

_She sat bolt upright, head turning this way and that. Where had it come from? Listening intently, it wasn't long before she heard it again. Was that...giggling? Who else was here? Levering herself upright, she scanned the verdant landscape. She was alone._

_More laughter, this time by several voices. Another appraisal failed to solve the enigma. From her vantage point, she could see for miles, yet was surrounded by nothing but grass._

"_How can that be?" she wondered._

_The laughing continued, consisting of voices of all pitches and timbres. With one last listen, she was sure she had determined the direction of the sound and started walking. The river grew smaller and smaller behind her as the investigation progressed. The laughter never faltered and at times she could have sworn it was mocking her. Occasional squeals of delight mingled with the jubilant chorus to create a vocal melody of delight._

_After walking for what seemed like miles, she was ready to admit defeat, until the laughter started to rise in volume. Her steps paused a moment as she took in this new development. Pressing on, the voices grew louder at a rapid rate, until what started as a gentle chime became a deafening toll. Forced to cover her ears, she span to find the owners, yet her solitude remained. Intrigue was turning to irritation as the noise became unbearable. _

"_WHERE ARE YOU?" she screamed._

_Silence._

_Her eyes darted about uneasily. Slowly, her hands fell back down to her sides. She was unsure of what to do next, until a lone giggle floated in the breeze. She span and this time saw a pale, glowing figure several yards away jogging towards her. Staring in mesmerised curiosity, she stood rooted to the spot as the ethereal form approached. _

_When only a foot remained between them, the glow faded to reveal a very familiar face: her own. She gawped in astonishment. The double's eyes sparkled with mirth as it chuckled, before embracing her tightly._

"_Thank you," it whispered into her ear, before stepping away._

_She studied her twin's face for a moment, utterly speechless. The double smiled and chuckled once more as it took several light steps backwards, before turning to leave._

_She reached out towards the retreating figure, calling desperately. _

"_Wait..."_

_Light enveloped her._

**000**

The crunching of stone and earth beneath my boots is drowned out by the wild hammering of my heart against my chest. Of all the headstrong, stubborn, confounding things to do! Anger and worry battle for dominance, with victory eventually being awarded to the latter as the sun surrenders to twilight. The advancing darkness does little to stop me, even with the continued pleas of everyone calling for me to rest. My search persists for another hour at least until the very last remnant of daylight glints off a distant scarlet surface. Zeroing in on my target, the breath freezes in my lungs. No, it cannot be!

I drop to my knees and roll the still body over, my heartbeat, if at all possible, pounding even faster than before. Brushing away strands of unruly, matted silver blonde hair, I am greeted by Linny's pale, battered countenance. My fingers fly straight to her neck and wrist, desperately hoping for a pulse. The feeblest of beats throbs beneath my fingertips and I call out to whoever is nearest.

"Over here, I've found her!" Several Blades respond to my plea, encircling me as I explain. "She is alive, but only just. I must get her back to the Temple immediately."

Before I can get to my feet, Jauffre has issued a myriad of orders to his subordinates and they race off as I scoop Linny's motionless form up in my arms. I barely register the sound of metal hitting the ground, until I almost trip over the cause of it. Jauffre crouches to pick it up and his jaw drops open in wonderment. I query his shock, but rather than answer, he merely holds the object up for me to see. My own expression replicates Jauffre's as I gaze at the Amulet of Kings. This should be of the utmost importance to me, but the necklace really only serves as a minor distraction to a mind consumed by fear for the woman in my arms.

In the Temple I can fully assess the extent of Linny's wounds. Dried blood cakes her entire body and I shudder, wondering if all of it is hers. Barely a patch of her is unmarred by some wound or another and my blood starts to boil. What God-awful mess did she get herself into _this_ time? At first, I don't even bother to remove my armour as I tend to her, but it soon proves to be a major hindrance, forcing me to leave her side momentarily as I strip down to the tunic and breeches underneath. I curse every wasted second, rushing to return to her as quickly as possible. Why didn't she listen to me? I distinctly told her to wait in that bloody chapel; why was that so hard to understand? What possible reason could she have had for going into the gate?

For three long days, I remain at her side, using every last inch of knowledge and magicka I possess in the vain attempt of healing her. People come and go, offering what little support or help they can. Others enquire as to Linny's progress, offering the expected condolences when I have nothing new to report. I know I should eat, but it seems such a trivial concern, until Jauffre finally orders me to force something substantial down my gullet. He has less luck with getting me to sleep, however; there is absolutely no way I can do that, whilst my patient walks such a frayed tightrope between life and death.

Time passes and not once do her eyes open. Never does her pulse quicken. Her breathing remains as shallow as it was on the first day. Eventually the breathing stops and panic threatens to tear open my heart. I throw every ounce of Restoration I can into her, refusing to allow passage to an inevitable truth. Since that fateful day she arrived at Kvatch, I have asked for very little, but now I call on the help of the Gods who have been so quiet of late. Despite the lack of response, I continue, willing every last drop of my magicka reserves to succeed where everything else has failed, until I can barely stand from the shaking of my limbs. Soaked in sweat, a voice whispers softly in the back of my mind, airing a truth that, deep down, I have long since realised: Linny is dead.

Grief works in mysterious ways. I do not get angry, scream at the injustice of it all, hurling the nearest object against a wall or break down sobbing; I simply sit in the chair and stare at her as she lies on the table in the middle of the library. Who knows how much time is wasted in my silent pursuit? Random thoughts stray into my mind-a gentle trickle of information at first-before rising into a tidal wave of cogitation. Yet another casualty of war has fallen. The tumultuous last few months she endured make her death seem all the more poignant. A lost, confused young woman trying to come to terms with a horrifying past she knew so little about. To think her life has ended just when she was trying to make amends for her supposed crimes; it all seems so unfair. Yet her demise is also a massive slap in the face of the enemy, for she somehow brought the Amulet of Kings back with her. How in the name of Talos she managed such a feat is beyond me!

An odd sensation bubbles in my stomach and something pulls at my lips. Before I know it, chuckles escape them as a rush of fond memories comes flooding back. Only Linny-a woman who was somehow tenacious and apprehensive at the same time-would spend months risking her life to retrieve rare artefacts, only to render them all useless when she accidentally recovered the very thing they were all needed for. The chuckles turn to giggling before breaking into almost hysterical laughter. Within moments tears well in my eyes and I am hunched over her immobile body, sobbing like a lost child. It seems grief has finally caught up with me.

I have seen so many deaths in my lifetime-such is the life of a priest and healer-yet very few have affected me this way before. Only one has ever haunted me the way I know this one will. Linny found out about her during the retelling of my days of Daedric worship and that tenuous link between the two women shall leave an indelible mark on my soul. The first propelled me into a life of atonement, the second shall drive me to fight. I have already accepted the role of Emperor, but now I shall truly honour it.

The sobbing subsides and I raise my head to study Linny's features a final time. In fatal slumber, she looks so young and peaceful. A last memory comes to me and I take her hand in mine as I lean closer.

"You are forgiven," I whisper, before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

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**A/N: Okay, please tell me what you all think of this. I was so worried about this sort of ending for the fanfic so would really appreciate everyone's thoughts on it.**


	16. EpilogueEven Victors Pay A Price

**A/N:****So, here it is-the final chapter!**

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Rising from the ashes on wings of fire. No, not fire-that is too destructive. This was something else-golden, brilliant and the complete opposite of destruction. It was a healing light, a beautiful glowing beacon of hope. Nobody dared to move or speak as they watched the glorious display unfold. Mehrunes Dagon had smashed his way through the roof of the Temple of the One, only to be confronted by the Avatar of Akatosh.

Clouds of smoke billowed from Dagon's nostrils. The deity's entire body was slick with the blood of its victims, forming grotesque tattoos over crimson skin. Wielding a gigantic battle axe in one of its four clawed fists, the other three demolished anything that came within reach. Everyone had assumed the fight was over, that we had lost. Nothing could defeat _that_.

How wrong we were. The gleaming Dragon aura held none of the menace exuding from its Daedric opponent, but its power was immeasurably superior. Despite the grandness of his adversary, Dagon was the epitome of arrogance.

"YOU," he thundered as the ground trembled from the bass of his voice. "PATHETIC MORTAL, YOU STILL THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME? I WILL CRUSH YOU, BODY, MIND AND SPIRIT. YOUR WORLD IS MINE!"

The Dragon opened its wings in reply, ready for battle and Dagon lunged. A high-pitched wail escaped the Dragon's throat as the axe blade connected with its left wing. Claws slashed the right side of Dagon's face and the two divinities fought for the fate of Cyrodiil. It didn't take long to see who the victor would be. Mehrunes Dagon, the Lord of Chaos, relied on brute strength and intimidation, whereas the Avatar had the added intelligence of Martin Septim-never something to be underestimated. One wrong step caused Dagon to stumble and the Dragon immediately seized the opportunity. Opening its jaw wide, the Dragon leapt forward and buried its fangs into the throat of its demonic antagonist.

The roar of pain was deafening as a current of fire engulfed the Daedric Prince of Destruction. The ground shook, bolts of lightning lit up the sky and the gigantic, grotesque form of Mehrunes Dagon went hurtling to the ground before the entire Temple of the One was engulfed in light and flame. The Dragon flapped its mighty wings and rose triumphantly from the blaze, letting out a shriek of victory before falling back to the earth. A windstorm blew through the temple, forcing everyone to dive for cover as it extinguished the flames.

A brief moment of respectful silence followed, before a chorus of pattering raindrops echoed throughout the district. From my huddled position on the floor, I cautiously opened one eye to survey the situation. The Temple of the One was a charred, hollow shell. Pieces of stone and wood laid scattered all over the place, with wisps of smoke rising from the last few stubborn smouldering fires. My eyes fell on the tall statue erected proudly in the centre of the now-roofless temple. Its pale, marble surface glowed in the moonlight and, with its wings spread and head thrown back, the effigy was a ghostly monument to the sacrifice of Martin Septim.

I must admit, there were more than a few moments where I doubted the suitability-or even the mere ability-of Martin Septim to rule Tamriel. He was so against the notion to begin with, spending so much time at Cloud Ruler Temple with his nose buried in those bloody books, that I was almost certain we were doomed to servitude of Dagon. Towards the end, however, a whole new side of the priest was revealed. When he stood before us, on the battlefield of Bruma, I do not think there was a single soul present who would have doubted his lineage; it was then that I realised how badly I had misjudged him. Looking back, Martin had always had that solid strength and resolve within him to lead others. His power was never one that needed harsh words or displays of violence to back it up and perhaps that is the whole point; real power and bravery needs no bravado to validate it. The fact that he won more arguments with Jauffre than lost was testament enough to that!

And he stood before me once again, not more than a few hours ago. The gleaming armour had been replaced with dark, heavy robes, but the steely resolve in those icy blue eyes burned brighter than ever. With the Amulet of Kings adorning his throat, the young man-who always so closely resembled his estranged father-looked the splitting image of his predecessor. Yes, I most definitely misjudged that man.

"Baurus!"

The call of my name snaps me out of my reverie. How long have I been stood before this statue? The measurement of time seems to hold little value against all that has happened. My name is called again, the voice closer this time, and I turn to see Chancellor Ocato rushing towards me, followed closely by the Grandmaster. Caked in dirt, with singe marks decorating his expensive clothing, the Altmer has definitely seen better days, but there is a jubilant smile spread across his face.

"We did it, we've won!" he cries in elation. His head flits left to right, as though searching for something. "Where is he? Where's Martin? I must congratulate him; he has proven to be a truly wonderful leader!"

I let out a quiet, mournful sigh. Once again, an Emperor has died under my guard. Perhaps I should consider a different career. "Martin is gone," I reply, avoiding everyone's gaze. I'm surprised how deeply his death is affecting me.

Confusion furrows the Chancellor's brow. "What do you mean, gone? I saw him enter the Temple with you. What happened?"

I detail the entire series of events from the moment we entered the Temple of the One, including Martin's harebrained scheme, which actually turned out to be a stroke of genius-using the Amulet of Kings as a weapon, fusing his own blood with that of Akatosh, and becoming the Dragon to end the threat of Oblivion.

Awe crosses Ocato's face. "Good Gods," he breathes. "Such a sacrifice..." Words seem to fail him as he trails off, before spending several moments concocting a suitable eulogy. "Martin may be dead, but he died an Emperor, and a hero to rival Tiber Septim."

"What happens now?" I ask.

"Well, we have won the war, but even victors pay a price. We no longer have an Emperor," he turns wistful for a moment. "What an Emperor he would have made!" Collecting himself, the Chancellor continues. "The Elder Council now has the unhappy task of running the Empire and somehow choosing a successor. Troubled times lay ahead, but let us not worry about that now; we must give thanks that we are alive."

With that unintentionally insensitive remark, he turns to speak with Jauffre and I am left alone with my thoughts once again. Give thanks that we are alive; I do, but mourn those who cannot. As I turn back to the Dragon statue, the faces of all those who gave their lives for the cause flit past my eyes and one in particular causes a spasm of anguish that makes my chest contract. I remember that Martin is not the only one whose character I misconstrued.

Linny-such an enigma. Even now, her true motives are still a mystery to me, but I cannot ignore her incredible sacrifice. Without her, I am not sure we would have succeeded and a pang of remorse mingles with the grief as I think about my own motives for following her into the Great Gate. I did indeed want to keep an eye on her, but not for the reasons I purported. Even at that late stage, I still couldn't completely trust her; I needed to know why she was so desperate to enter the Gate. That it required her death to prove her loyalty says very little in favour of me.

Part of me wishes she were here now, to receive the praise she deserves, but another part wonders just what she would do now if she were. She had no life, family or friends here-besides Martin-and, even if he had also managed to live, would anyone have allowed the Emperor to associate with someone like her? Perhaps it was Fate's way of ensuring they would be together, even if it does have to be in Aetherius.

Despite the fact a Daedric invasion has been thwarted, I am not in a very celebratory mood. A hand clasps my right shoulder and I turn once more to see the Grandmaster facing me, a small, compassionate smile on his lips.

"Do not let loss weigh too heavily on your heart," he urges. "You have far surpassed yourself in every way, Baurus. In fact, with the Oblivion crisis finally over, I do believe I shall finally have time for the rest of my Grandmaster duties, such as choosing Captain Renault's successor."

I gawp in disbelief at him. Captain of the Blades? I would barely be able to process the notion on a regular day and right now, with my thoughts and emotions jumping all over the place, I can do nothing more than stare blankly at him. Hardly the best start for a Captain, is it?

Jauffre chuckles. "Is that a yes?"

I nod clumsily and he clasps my hand with both of his.

"I am an old man and need a few days to recover from this whole ordeal," he says, his aged and lined face displaying unimaginable weariness. "I suggest you do the same."

He walks away and I continue to gape, before eventually sliding to the floor. Exhaustion seems to have finally caught up with me. Moisture gathers in my tear ducts and I feel chuckles bubbling up my throat. I rub a hand over my face as the tears and laughter start simultaneously. I most definitely need those few days' rest. Unable to keep my gaze away, it returns to the lofty statue. Odd that such a beastly creature should be a symbol of hope and comfort. Odder still that someone whose reign only lasted a matter of hours will have such a lasting impact on the hearts of so many. Whoever the next Emperor may be, he will have a hard task living up to Martin Septim.

Many will debate or philosophise the events of today, but all I know is he sacrificed himself to save us all and, as a Blade, I am proud to have served such a master, if only for a short while.

The end.

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**A/N:**** And there you have it. I really hope you all enjoyed. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, with biggest thanks of all going to Frenetic-Kinetic for betaing :) xxxx**


	17. Note

**Author's update:**

Hello all! I'm sorry to say this is not a continuation of the story. I just wanted to let everyone know that if you liked this story then you should check out the artwork I have done for each chapter of this story. Unfortunately they won't let me post the link on here so just look for sammichlover on DEVIANTART to see them :)


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